Library  of 
The  Ut^iversity  of  North  Carolina 


COLLECTION  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINIANA 


ENDOWED  BY 

JOHN  SPRUNT  HILL 

of  the  Class  of  1889 


C^i5_P7e9  + 


This  book  must  not 
be  taken  from  the 
Library  building. 


Form  No.  471 


THE   TROUBLE  AT   PINELANDS 


"I'll  tote  yuh  to  death  along  of  me,  anyhow." 

(Frontispiece,  Page  256.) 


The  Trouble  at  Pinelands 


A  Detective  Story 


BY 


ERNEST  M.   POATE 


CHELSEA  HOUSE 
79  Seventh  Avenue  New  York  City 


Copyright,  1922 
By  CHELSEA  HOUSE 


The  Trouble  at  Pinelands 


(Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America) 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  foreign 
languages,  including  the  Scandinavian. 


CONTENTS 


CHAFTEB 

I.  The  Poltergeist 

11.  bobwhite 

IUjI,  a  Bad  Spell 

IV.  A  Feud 

V,  A  Tragedy   . 

VI.  Uncertainty 

VII.  Investigation 

VIII.  The  Inquest 

'IX.  A  Conflagration 


X.     More  Trouble  Threatens 
XI-    Preparations  for  Defense 


XII.    A  Frustrated  Lynching 


PAGE 


..  >> 


a 


XIII.     '^'A  Little  Relaxation 


XIV.    The  Poltergeist  Again 
XV.    A  Fishing  Trip  , 


XVI.    Some  Clews,  and  a  Suggestion 

X\TI.    An  Unusual  Wedding 

XVIII.     SoMERS  Disgraces  Himself 

ix 


II 

.    23 

.   37 

.   47 

.   54 

.   63 

.   76 

.   86 

•   95 

.  104 

.  112 

.  118 

.  132 

.  141 

.  151 

.  158 

.  165 

*  174 

CONTENTS 


CBAFTRB 

XIX.    An  Explanation 
XX.    A  Flirtation 


XXI.    An  Illicit  Enterprise 


XXII.    The  Showdown 


XXMI.    Anne  Christie's  Story 
XXIV.    A  Projected  Excursion 
XXV.    A  Trip  to  the  Mountains 


XXVI.     Roaring  Lafe 


XXVII.     In  the  Hands  of  the  Enemy 
XXVni.    Rutledge  Talks  .        .,        - 


XXIX.    The  Return 


XXX.  An  Agitated  Household    . 

XXXI.  A  Borrowed  Shotgun 

XXXII.  The  Poltergeist's  Last  Visit 

XXXIII.  The  Final  Explanation  . 


XXXIV.    Mating  Time 


PAGB 

183 

190 
200 
207 
216 

240 
250 
256 
266 
271 
279 
287 
296 
310 


The  Trouble  at  Pinelands 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    POLTERGEIST 

1  COULD  not  sleep.  I  am  an  old  man  now  and 
of  settled  habit;  a  "confirmed  bachelor,"  the 
young  folks  call  me.  Even  the  smallest  change  of 
routine  irks  me;  and  so,  on  this  night,  I  found 
it  very  hard  to  be  comfortable  in  a  strange  bed. 

Peter  McGregor  had  gone  north.  He  was  in 
Baltimore  to  order  flowers,  consult  the  caterer,  and 
make  the  final  arrangements  for  the  wedding  break- 
fast. Only  women  were  left  in  the  old  stone 
mansion;  the  McGregors  called  it  "Fort  House," 
because  it  had  something  of  the  grim,  forbidding 
look  of  an  old  fort.  Dorothy,  Peter's  sister,  her 
invalid  aunt,  and  the  nurse,  Miss  Christie,  were 
all  here. 

Miss  Christie  was  too  indifferent  to  care,  I  think; 
she  was  a  very  dormouse  for  contentment,  and  she 
slept  so  determinedly  that  I  used  to  wonder  when 
she  found  time  to  care  for  her  patient.  But 
Dorothy  was  timid,  as  most  young  girls  are;  and 
her  Aunt  Mary,  who  was  paralyzed,  was  highly 
nervous  at  the  best  and  declared  that  she'd  never 
close  an  eye  without  a  man  in  the  house.  And, 
indeed,  I  could  not  blame  them  much,  for  Fort 
House  was  a  gloomy,  eerie  place,  with  its  big,  silent 
^  rooms  and  long,  dark  halls,  wainscoted  in  time- 
^      stained    oak    and    full    of    unexpected    nooks    and 


12  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

corners.  Also,  though  well  within  the  village,  it 
stood  far  back  from  the  street  in  a  little  grove 
of  high,  solemn  pines;  leafy  shrubs  grew  thick 
about  its  gray  walls,  and  honeysuckle  vines  climbed 
over  its  narrow  windows  and  shaded  them  still 
further. 

A  man  must  be  had  to  protect  these  lone  women, 
and  there  was  I — not  a  very  efficient  protector,  I 
fear,  since  I  am  turned  sixty-five  and  sadly  crippled 
with  rheumatism,  but  the  best  available.  For  my 
nephew,  Lewis,  Doctor  C.  Lewis  Parker,  Johns 
Hopkins  Medical  College,  class  of  '17,  though  willing 
enough,  was  scarcely  the  man  to  come,  since  he  was 
to  marry  Dorothy  in  two  days;  w^hereas  I  was  of 
discreet  age  and  w^ith  none  to  miss  me  at  home. 
Li  spite  of  his  assurances  I  knew  well  enough  that 
I  was  a  nuisance  and  no  help  in  my  nephew^'s  house; 
he  kept  me  with  him  simply  because  I  was  his  only 
surviving  kinsman,  as  he  was  mine,  and  because 
his  kind  heart  would  not  leave  me  to  end  my  days 
in  some  home  for  the  aged.  Yes,  I  knev/  that  I 
w^as  but  a  burden  upon  his  goodness — knew  it  sadly, 
but  without  bitterness;  a  long  old  age  tempers  one's 
pride. 

But  here  I  was,  the  guardian  of  my  nephew's  bride 
to  be;  and  I  tossed  upon  my  bed  and  could  not  sleep 
for  long,  sad  thoughts.  I  rejoiced  in  the  boy's 
happiness;  truly  I  rejoiced,  for  Dorothy  McGregor 
was  the  sweetest  of  girls  and  as  tender  to  a  useless 
old  man  as  if  I  had  been  her  own  kin.  Yes,  it  v/as 
best,  oh,  surely  it  was  best,  that  these  two  kindly, 
handsome  young  folk  should  marry  and  make  their 


THE  POLTERGEIST  13 

own  home.  I  looked  back  through  a  vista  of  long, 
lonely  years  at  my  own  friendless  life,  a  life  that 
might  have  been  so  different  if  my  Dorothy  had 
lived. 

They  would  marry  and  be  happy  in  each  other. 
But — I  am  a  very  selfish  old  man,  I  fear — but  what 
of  me?  I  had  no  other  home;  and,  were  she  never 
so  tender  of  heart,  wdiat  bride  desires  that  her 
honeymoon  should  have  such  a  worthless,  worn-out 
satellite  as  I  ?  No,  these  two  must  build  their  own 
nest;  and  it  would  have  no  place  for  me.  Then  I 
thought  briefly  of  Aunt  Mary  McGregor,  paralyzed 
from  the  waist  dow^n,  these  fourteen  years,  and 
bearing  her  troubles  with  such  saintly  patience ; 
where  would  she  go,  and  how  would  she  live  after 
the  wedding?  We  two  might  marry  also,  I  thought, 
and  laughed  mirthlessly  at  the  idea.  Old  maid  and 
old  bachelor,  we  might  join  our  troubles  and  spend 
the  evening  of  our  days  together,  enlivening  each 
other  with  comparisons  of  our  various  aches  and 
pains.  For  I  must  admit  that  Aunt  Mary,  for  all  her 
sweet  patience,  was  overfond  of  discussing  her 
symptoms. 

The  old  house  was  very  quiet,-  except  for  those 
strange  creakings  and  rustlings  which  one  hears  a.t 
night  in  these  old  places.  Faint,  eerie  noises,  these, 
which  made  the  silence  more  profound;  I  fancied 
that  Fort  House  whispered  to  itself  of  days  gone  by. 

Without  was  the  clear,  cool  hush  of  a  North 
Carolina  summer's  night.  It  had  been  a  hot  June 
day,  but  the  night  was  cool,  as  are  all  our  nights, 
and  a  round,  bright  moon  hung  high,   flooding  the 


14  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

lawn  with  pale  light,  making  the  black  shadows  of 
the  pines  blacker  yet,  silvering  the  leaves  of  the 
honeysuckle  vine  at  my  windows.  The  sweet,  heavy 
scent  of  a  few  late  blossoms  drifted  in  to  me,  bear- 
ing with  it  that  faint,  sinister  suggestion  of  mystery 
and  crime  that  belongs  peculiarly  to  the  cloying  odor 
of  honeysuckles  in  a  hushed,  dark  night. 

That  odor  fretted  me,  awaking  in  my  mind  un- 
pleasant fancies.  This  w^as  a  dismal  place,  the  old 
Fort  House ;  no  proper  setting  for  such  a  vivid  young 
flower  as  Dorothy  McGregor.  I  strove  to  fancy  the 
house  filled  with  flowers,  crowded  with  gay-dressed, 
laughing  wedding  guests,  and  I  could  not,  even  now, 
with  a  wedding  two  days  off.  I  was  queerly  thank- 
ful that  Dorothy  and  Lewis  would  not  live  here,  but 
in  a  little  white  bungalow,  red-roofed,  banked  about 
with  flowers,  open  to  the  kindly,  honest  sun.  For 
how  could  young  lovers  be  happy  here,  in  this  grim 
stone  pile  among  the  solemn  pines,  this  mournful  old 
house,  which  creaked  and  whispered  to  itself  so 
mysteriously  of  nights,  whose  dark,  airless  rooms 
were  heavy  with  the  scent  of  honeysuckle?  Some- 
where I  seemed  to  have  read  or  heard  that  the 
honeysuckle  grows  best  and  gives  its  strongest  odor 
about  places  of  secret  crime.  The  fancy  obsessed 
me;  I  wondered  what  might  be  the  history  of  this 
old  mansion — for  I  was  but  newly  come  to  Pine- 
lands,  a  year  ago — what  dark  deeds  these  walls  had 
known  in  days  long  gone;  w^hat  dreadful  histories 
were  bared  in  the  self -communings  of  those  ancient, 
creaking  timbers. 

It  was  very  late,  and  I  w^as  tired  out.     Moreover 


THE  POLTERGEIST  iS 

I  was  sad  because  I  must  so  soon  give  up  my 
nephew  to  his  new  wife.  My  aged  bones  ached,  and 
my  knee  joints  creaked  and  groaned,  as  I  paced  the 
floor.  I  was  feverish,  perhaps,  and  so  fanciful;  or  it 
may  be  that  I  was  fey.  Whatever  the  explanation, 
a  sudden  conviction  swept  over  me,  as  of  actual 
knowledge. 

Fort  House  was  haunted.  I  knew  it.  Without 
knowing  how  or  why,  that  knowledge  swept  over  me 
in  a  chill  wave  of  fear  that  raced  up  my  spine  and 
plucked  at  the  short  hairs  of  my  neck.  It  left  me 
shaken  and  dismayed,  with  a  lump  of  ice  where  my 
heart  had  been. 

The  place  was  deadly  still.  Even  the  indistinct 
complaints  of  aged  timbers  were  hushed,  and  there 
seemed  no  possibility  of  sound  in  all  the  world. 
Then,  from  the  hall  below,  came  a  whirring  click, 
whereat  I  gasped;  the  grandfather  clock  on  the  stair 
landing  struck  twelve — deliberately,  solemnly.  The 
mellow  chime  of  its  old  gong  dropped  dead  on  the 
still  air,  without  an  echo.  The  silence  of  the  tomb, 
a  hush  intolerably  profound.  Then,  with  dreadful 
suddenness,  a  clanking  as  of  chains,  the  crash  of 
broken  crockery,  a  shrill,  horrid  screech! 

My  veins  seemed  to  freeze,  and  I  could  not 
breathe.  As  in  nightmares,  an  inescapable  weight 
dragged  at  every  limb,  held  me  helpless. 

What  was  abroad  I  knew  not,  save  that  it  could 
be  no  honest  thing.  Why,  I  would  have  prayed  for 
a  palpable  burglar;  I  could  have  fallen  on  his  neck 
with  joyful  tears,  though  he  were  the  worst  villain 
unhung ! 


i6  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Then  I  heard  a  faint  stir  in  the  room  beyond 
mine,  where  Dorothy  McGregor  slept;  the  tiniest 
of  frightened  sobs.  That  sound  heartened  me.  I 
am  no  hero;  but  in  a  long  hfe  I  have  observed  more 
than  once  that  terrors  which  will  turn  a  solitary  man 
craven  may  be  faced  almost  with  boldness  if  he  has 
but  a  weaker  one  beside  him  to  protect.  Alone,  I 
dared  not  stay  in  my  room,  much  less  venture  forth; 
but  there  was  Dorothy  next  me,  and  downstairs 
her  helpless  aunt  and  the  nurse.  They  would  look 
to  me  for  aid,  for  courage;  and  knowing  that,  I 
made  shift  to  conquer  my  fears  a  very  little. 

I  threw  a  bath  robe  over  my  shoulders  and  padded 
out  into  the  black  hall,  barefoot. 

^'Dorothy!"  I  whispered;  somehow,  I  dared  not 
call  aloud.     "My  dear,   are  you  all  right?" 

Her  answer  came  muffled  through  the  door.  "Yes, 
Uncle  George.  It's  nothing."  But  her  shaking  voice 
belied  the  words.  "It's  nothing  to  be  af-f-fraid  of. 
We've  heard  it  before.  Wait,  I'm  coming  out. 
Aunty'll  be  scared." 

In  a  moment  her  door  opened,  and  Dorothy  ap- 
peared, faintly  visible  by  the  pale  moon  that  shone 
in  her  window.  She  was  wrapped  in  some  sort  of 
filmy,  lacy  robe,  and  her  fine  black  hair,  which  lay 
across  one  shoulder,  in  a  braid  thicker  than  my 
wrist,  fell  down  the  front  of  her  negligee,  right  to 
her  knees. 

She  groped  for  my  arm  and  clutched  it  tight. 
Neither  of  us  thought  of  making  a  light.  Perhaps 
we   both    feared   what  that   light   might   reveal. 

"Let's    go    down    to    Aunt    Mary's    room,"    she 


THE  POLTERGEIST  17 

whispered.  ''She'll  be  scared  to  death,  poor  thing  I 
Tm  scared,  my  own  self,  and  just  think  of  her, 
not  able  even  to  move!" 

A  plump,  delicious  little  thing,  she  huddled  close 
against  me.  I  felt  her  tender  body  tremble  and  put 
an  arm  across  one  shoulder. 

''Come  along,  child,"  said  I.  "But  give  me  a  hand 
on  the  stairs  here,  because  my  rheumatism  is  pretty 
bad  to-night.     What  was  it?" 

Dorothy  cuddled  my  arm.  "Poor  dear!"  she 
whispered.  "Careful  of  that  step;  we're  just  at  the 
turn.     Why,  it  was  the  Poltergeist." 

"Huh?"  I  stopped  short,  repeating  the  outlandish 
word.      "Poltergeist?      What's   that?" 

"Why,  that  scream  and  everything.  It  comes 
every  few  nights  lately,  only  I  never  said  anything 
about  it  outside,  because  it  upsets  Aunt  Mary  so. 
She  won't  have  me  even  mention  it  to  Lewis,  let 
alone  any  other  body;  just  says  such  things  oughtn't 
to  be  talked  about.  After  I  showed  her  the  broken 
dishes  she Oh-h-h!" 

She  broke  off,  gripping  my  arm  tighter  still,  press- 
ing close  against  me,  to  the  detriment  of  my  sorer 
shoulder;  then  she  made  a  quaint  little  sound,  a 
sort  of  whispered  scream. 

I  stared  violently,  too;  for  there  was  a  ghostly 
rustling  in  the  lower  hall,  just  by  our  knees,  and 
something  dim  and  white  and  shapeless  seemed  to 
whip  past  us  and  disappear.  I  say  seemed;  for  it 
was  too  dark  to  be  sure,  and  I  stretched  out  my 
hand   toward   it   and   felt   nothing.      It   might   have 


i8  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

been  pure  fancy,  a  breath  of  air  through  the  hall, 
a  mouse  scurrying  along  the  wall. 

"There,  Dotty!"  I  whispered.  "It  wasn't  any- 
thing— and,  besides,  it's  gone.     See?" 

*T  know,"  she  agreed  doubtfully.  'T  know  it 
wasn't  anything,  and  Peter  always  says  so,  too.  He 
watched  two  nights  to  make  sure;  only  he  went  to 
sleep  both  times.     But  it  scares  me  just  the  same." 

By  now  we  had  groped  our  way  to  Aunt  Mary's 
room.  She  slept  on  the  ground  floor,  being,  as  I 
may  have  said,  paralyzed  from  the  waist  dow^n. 
Her  nurse.  Miss  Christie,  slept  in  a  little  chamber 
which  opened  off  of  her  patient's  room. 

We  listened,  our  heads  close  together,  pressed 
against  the  closed  door;  presently  we  heard  the 
sound  of  heavy  breathing — a  ladylike  snore. 

"That's  Miss  Christie,"  whispered  Dorothy.  "It 
didn't  wake  her  up.  Uncle  George,  she  is  the  sleep- 
ingest  thing!  She  makes  me  mad  sometimes,  she's 
so  placid." 

I  heard  the  creak  of  springs,  as  some  one  moved 
in  bed,  and  a  weak,  sad,  patient  voice  called: 
Is  any  one  there?" 

It's  me,  aunty,"  replied  Dorothy.     "We  came  to 
see  if  you  were  all  right.     Did  you  hear  it?" 

In  the  room  beyond  us  the  bed  creaked  again,  as 
if  some  one  struggled  to  sit  up  in  it.  Then  Aunt 
Mary's  voice: 

"Miss  Christie!" 

No  answer. 

A  sigh.  Then  louder,  but  still  patiently,  sweetly: 
"Miss  Christie!     Nurse!" 


{(- 


li- 


THE  POLTERGEIST  19 

"Aw-ugh!"  A  yawn,  a  sleepy  murmur,  and  then, 
when  Aunt  Mary  had  called  once  more :  **Yes,  Miss 
McGregor,  Fm  comin' !     Ho-hum!" 

Bare  feet  plumped  to  the  floor  and  padded  out 
toward  us;  I  could  fancy  the  nurse  digging  her 
fists  into  sleep-blurred  eyes. 

'Wha's  a  matter?" 

"Snap  on  the  lights,  please;  now  help  me  to  sit 
up.  Hand  me  that  shawl.  Open  the  door,  please ; 
Dorothy's  out  there.'' 

A  line  of  light  showed  at  our  feet,  along  the 
threshold.  We  heard  a  bustle  within,  and  presently 
the  door  opened.  I  hesitated  a  moment,  half  blinded 
by  the  sudden  light.  Yet  I  saw  the  retreating  figure 
of  the  nurse,  dumpy  and  shapeless  in  a  bath  robe, 
her  head  an  aureole  of  tousled  blond  hair.  She 
vanished  into  her  own  alcove  room,  and  I  heard  her 
drop  upon  the  l>ed,  with  one  more  yawn,  followed, 
without   appreciable  pause,   by   gentle   snores. 

Dorothy  turned  to  me.  The  blue  of  her  negligee 
matched  her  sea-blue  eyes,  and  her  soft  black  hair 
was  a  cloud  about  her  dimpled  face,  still  delicately 
flushed  with  sleep.  Light  and  company  had  quite 
restored  her  courage ;  she  laughed  at  me  merrily. 

"Come  along  in.  Uncle  George !  You  look  lovely. 
No?     Well,   just  a  minute,   then.'' 

She  turned  to  her  aunt.  The  old  lady  was  propped 
high  with  pillows,  a  beautiful  old  Paisley  shawl 
wrapped  about  her  thin  shoulders.  Her  snow-white 
hair  was  dressed  exactly  as  for  a  ball.  She  was 
a  wonderful  old  lady,  always  precise  and  well 
groomed,  in  spite  of  her  invalidism.     Her  black  eyes 


ic 


iif 


20  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

were  bright,  but  her  thin,  patrician  face  bore  a  look 
of  patient  sadness.  She  stretched  out  a  slender 
hand. 

There,  child!     What  is  it?" 
Why — why,  aunty,  you  know!     Didn't  you  hear 
it?" 

Aunt  Mary  sighed.  ''Yes,  Dorothy,  dear,  but 
these  are  things  best  not  spoken  about." 

"Did  it  wake  you  up?" 

"No,  child.  I  haven't  been  asleep.  Shift  that 
pillow,  please;  the  pain  is  worse  to-night."  She 
sighed  again,  with  sad,  upturned  eyes.  'Tt  seems  as 
if  I  had  enough  to  bear,  without  that.  But  it's  all 
for  the  best,  no  doubt.  I  must  be  patient!"  She  had 
the  sweet,  resigned  expression  of  some  aged  saint. 
"I  was  just  getting  quieted  down,  too.  There,  child, 
run  back  to  bed.  So  sorry  you  were  disturbed,  Mr. 
Uhlman,"  she  told  me  over  her  niece's  shoulder. 
"This  child  is  fanciful — nervous." 

"Did  I  disturb  you,  too.  Aunt  Mary?"  Dorothy's 
voice  was  remorseful.  "But  I  thought  you'd  be 
frightened,    dear." 

Aunt  Mary  made  a  little  deprecatory  gesture. 
"Why?  I'm  not  afraid  of  spirits,  my  child;  I'll 
be  with  them  soon  enough.  Go  now,  but  call  Miss 
Christie  first.     I  want  her  to  change  my  pillows." 

She  closed  her  eyes,  sighed  wearily,  then  spoke 
again  to  me,  where  I  stood  in  the  dark  hall. 

"You  mustn't  mind  what  you  heard,  Mr.  Uhlman. 
It's  nothing — merely  a  materialization.  Trivial 
spirits  can't  harm  us." 

We  were  dismissed.     As  Dorothy  closed  the  door 


iC\ 


((I 


THE  POLTERGEIST  21 

very  gently,  I  heard  Aunt  Mary  say :  "Raise  me  a 
little  more,  Miss  Christie.  And  another  pillow, 
please.  My  head's  very  bad  again.  This  has  upset 
me."  She  sighed  plaintively.  Both  tone  and  words 
were  of  an  angelic  resignation;  I  could  not  under- 
stand Dorothy's  manner. 

For,   now   that   we   were   alone   in   the   dark   hall, 
she  gritted  her  little,  even  teeth  together.     "Darn!" 
I  heard  her  mutter. 
What  is   it,   child?" 

Oh,  nothing!  Aunt  Mary's  on  another  rampage. 
Wish  I'd  left  her  alone,  but  you  never  know  how  to 
take  her." 

"My  dear!"  I  reproved.  "You  oughtn't  to  speak 
of  your  aunt  so.     She  has  a  hard  time,  poor  lady!" 

Dorothy  laughed  shortly.  "So  do  I!  Oh,  I  know 
you  think  I'm.  horrid,  but  you  just  stick  around  and 
see  for  yourself." 

I  sighed.  The  young  are  intolerant  of  invalidism. 
"But  about  the  other  thing,  Dorothy — the  scream  we 
heard,  and  all  that?  What  did  you  mean  by 
Toltergeist?'" 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "Come  away,  Uncle 
George.  She'll  hear  us.  Never  mind  that  now. 
Oh" — as  I  persisted — "that's  what  Aunt  Mary  calls 
'manifestations,'  screams  at  night,  broken  dishes, 
things  missing  from  the  pantry,  and  all  that.  She 
wrote  to  some  learned  society  about  it,  and  they  said 
it  was  a  Poltergeist,  a  little,  malicious  ghost  that 
plays  tricks  like  that.  They  wanted  to  send  some- 
body here  to  investigate.  Come,  we've  got  to  get  out 
of  here;  Aunt  Mary  has  ears  like  a  lynx.     In  the 


22  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

morning  she'll  tell  how  our  talking  kept  her  awake 
all  night  long.  Come  on,  Uncle  George,  do!  Never 
mind  the  ghost.  I  hear  enough  about  that;  Aunt 
Mary  talks  of  it  to  me  for  hours  on  end,  when  she's 
in  the  right  humor.  She's  a  great  spiritualist,  you 
know." 

In  silence  she  bustled  me  back  to  my  room.  One 
would  have  thought  that  she  was  actually  afraid  of 
that  sweet,  patient  old  saint,  her  Aunt  Mary. 


CHAPTER   II 

BOBWHITE 

I  WENT  back  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  The  moon 
had  set,  and  the  pitch  dark  of  the  old  house 
intensified  all  my  foolish  fancies.  Over  and  over 
I  went  through  the  round  of  morbid  thought:  my 
nephew's  marriage,  the  bleak,  friendless  future  that 
awaited  me ;  this  dismal  old  barracks,  pervaded  by 
the  sinister  odor  of  honeysuckle;  the  faint,  mys- 
terious creakings  and  stirrings  of  its  ancient  walls. 
I  caught  myself  listening,  breathless,  for  a  repetition 
of  that  awful  screech ;  I  vowed  that  nothing  should 
induce  me  to  spend  another  night  in  the  haunted 
place.  I  paid  Dorothy  and  her  aunt  the  meed  of  a 
tremendous  admiration  because  they  accepted  this 
Poltergeist  so  calmly. 

Sleep  stood  far  off  from  me,  while  the  night 
dragged  inexorably  on,  and  the  deep-toned  grand- 
father clock  on  the  landing  tolled  out  hour  after 
hour.  At  last  I  felt  the  first  subtle  changes  of  com- 
ing dawn. 

From  somewhere  a  fugitive  breeze,  the  merest 
vagrant  breath  of  air,  stirred  in  the  solemn  pines,  so 
that  they  whispered.  The  leaves  of  the  honeysuckle 
vines  at  my  window  moved,  and  the  heavy  scent  of 
their  flowers  poured  in  more  strongly.  The  air 
seemed  cleaner,  cooler.  One  could  not  say  that  it 
was  lighter,  but  the  darkness  grew  more  bearable. 
And  then,  little  by  little,  the  east  faded,  turned  gray, 


24  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

lavender,  pink;  then  it  began  to  flush  with  the  first, 
faint,   exquisite  tints   that  precede   sunrise. 

I  sighed  deep  and  turned  over.  My  weary, 
strained  Hmbs  relaxed.  Now  that  the  night  was 
gone,  and  daylight  began  to  be  a  promise  almost  ful- 
filled, ghosts  troubled  me  no  longer,  nor  did  sad 
thoughts  have  power  to  haunt  me.  "Joy  cometh 
in  the  morning,"  the  psalmist  said.  To  me  came 
peace  at  least,  and  I  settled  to  rest. 

My  lids  were  heavy  with  that  delicious  languor 
which  welcomes  sleep  after  a  long,  troubled  night; 
an  insistent  whistling,  right  under  my  window, 
roused  me. 

I  sat  up,  muttering  angrily.  Some  milkman,  no 
doubt,  or  some  furnace  boy,  wooing  the  cook.  There 
it  was  again;  a  fine  hour  for  love-making!  Would 
she  never  wake  up?  Confound  all  cooks  and  their 
swains ! 

Then  my  delightful  drowse  fled  away,  leaving  me 
wide  awake,  my  last  hope  of  slumber  gone.  I  knew 
that  this  was  no  amorous  milkman,  whose  racket 
might   be  hushed   by   well-directed   abuse. 

"Bohzi4iite !     BohivhiteT 

I  held  an  aching  head  between  my  hands.  That 
insistent  two-toned  whistle,  repeated  again  and  again, 
in  maddening  iteration,  came  from  no  man,  but  a 
bird — the  "bobwhite,"  the  quail  of  North  Carolina, 
which  some  misguided  idiots  would  have  protected 
as  a  songbird! 

But  now  it  was  full  light,  and,  I  suppose,  some- 
thing after  five  o'clock.  With  a  dispirited  sigh  I 
arose  and  began  to  dress  slowly.     I  had  made  more 


BOBWHITE  25 

of  a  sacrifice  than  I  realized  when  I  offered,  in  my 
innocence,  to  spend  the  night  at  Fort  House. 

I  shaved  and  dressed  leisurely,  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  bobwhite's  continual  clamor;  at  last 
I  descended  the  wide  stairs  silently,  lest  I  wake 
others.  I  heard  no  stir  from  Dorothy's  room;  she, 
no  doubt,  was  well  used  to  the  song  of  quail.  As 
I  may  have  said.  Fort  House  stood  apart  and  alone 
in  its  grove  of  pines,  and  wild  quail  might  well  nest 
in  the  tangle  of  scrub  oaks  behind  it.  They  sang 
under  her  window  every  morning,  I  suppose,  so  that 
Dorothy  heard  them  no  longer.  But  I  rejoiced 
privately  that  the  house  I  shared  with  my  nephew, 
Lewis  Parker,  stood  close  to  its  neighbors  and  far 
off  from  wild  birds  and,  I  hoped,  wilder  ghosts. 

But,  as  I  reached  the  ground  floor  and  tiptoed 
past  Aunt  Mary's  door,  I  had  proof  that  bobwhite 
had  disturbed  others  beside  myself.  For  all  her 
long  stay  in  this  house,  Miss  McGregor  was  not  yet 
used  to  the  outcry  of  quail,  it  appeared. 

''Miss  Christie!"  I  heard.  ''Miss  Christie!  Dear 
me,  has  she  gone  to  sleep  again?     Miss  Christie!" 

A  sleepy  murmur  from  the  inner  room. 

"Miss  Christie!  Get  dressed,  please,  and  go  out. 
See  if  you  can't  drive  that  wretched  bird  away;  I 
can't  stand  it  any  longer!" 

I  smiled  to  myself,  for  the  sweet,  resigned  voice 
had  turned  sharp,  almost  irritable.  Plainly  there 
were  limits  even  to  Aunt  Mary's  patience.  And  from 
without  the  whistle  of  that  miserable  quail  continued 
monotonously:  ''Bobwhite!"  Three  seconds,  then: 
''Bohzvhiter 


26  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Then  I  went  on  into  the  Uving  room,  selected  a 
book  and  settled  myself  to  wait  for  breakfast.  It 
might  have  been  an  hour  before  I  heard  voices  at 
the  rear  of  the  house;  they  came  closer,  sounded 
from  the  dining  room,  just  behind  me.  I  listend 
frankly,  welcoming  any  signs  of  human  companion- 
ship after  my  long  vigil;  for  nothing  is  so  lonely 
as  a  deserted  sitting  room  in  the  early  morning, 
when  all  but  yourself  are  still  in  their  rooms. 

"Yassum,  Miss  Dor'thy,  thassall,  ma*am.  Them 
two  gold-banded  chiny  cups  done  gone  bust,  an'  th' 
sweet  potato  pie  all  et  up." 

''Oh,  dear!"  That  was  Dorothy's  voice.  *T  don't 
mind  the  pie  so  much,  but  I  do  wish  the  ghost 
wouldn't  break  my  best  dishes,  Rosina." 

The  Poltergeist  retained  an  appetite  for  material 
dainties,  it  seemed!  For  some  reason  that  touch 
rendered  it  less  formidable  to  my  fancy ;  besides,  it 
was  now  bright  sunlight,  and  who  fears  ghosts  in 
the  daytime?     I  felt  very  courageous. 

But  the  cook  was  speaking  again,  in  a  rich,  throaty 
drawl.  ''Yassum,  Miss  Dor'thy.  Them  ghosteses 
ain't  got  no  apershashun,  is  they?  But,  ma'am.  I 
done  got  my  satisfy  of  ghosteses,  Miss  Dor'thy. 
I'se  standed  'em  too  long.  Cain't  leave  you-all 
ontwel  th'  weddin',  a-course;  but  when  you-all  gits 
safe  married,  Fort  House  is  th'  place  Fse  a-gwine 
t'  be  anywheres  else  in  No'th  Ca'lina  but!  Yassum, 
Miss  Dor'thy!     You  heahs  me!" 

Dorothy  sighed.  ''We'll  all  be  leaving  then,  I 
hope,  Rosina.  It  is  a  spooky  old  place,  I  know,  but 
Aunt  Mary  likes  it  here." 


BOBWHITE  27 

Rosina  departed  kitchenward,  muttering  something 
unintelligible  which  I  fancied  was  less  than  compli- 
mentary to  Miss  McGregor;  and  Dorothy  pushed 
aside  the  portiere  and  saw  me. 

''Why,  good  morning,  Uncle  George!  You're 
up  early." 

I  rose  rather  stiffly,  for  this  night  had  done  my 
rheumatism  no  good,  and  bowed. 

"Good  morning,  Dorothy!     Did  you  sleep  well?" 

"Not  very."  However  she  looked  fresh  as  a  rose, 
and  her  blue  eyes  shone.  Her  thick  black  hair  was 
coiled  simply  about  a  shapely  head;  she  wore  some 
sort  of  filmy  silk  robe  of  a  pale  blue  color,  and 
ravishingly  pretty  she  looked  in  it,   too. 

"The  Poltergeist  upset  my  night,"  she  went  on. 
"I  got  up  early  to  see  what  damage  he'd  done  this 
time.  You'll  excuse  me  for  coming  out  so  in- 
formally ?"  She  looked  down  at  her  negligee  with 
a  bright  blush.  "I'm  going  to  skip  right  back  up- 
stairs and  dress  now — honest  I  am." 

"You  look  very  sweet,  my  dear."  I  am  old  enough 
to  say  such  things  quite  impersonally.  "But  tell  me 
first  about  the  ghost." 

She  blushed  again.  "Why — why.  Uncle  George, 
it  seems  so  silly!" 

"Silly!"  I  repeated.  "There  was  nothing  silly 
about  that  scream  in  the  night;  it  brought  the  goose 
flesh  out  all  over  me." 

"Well,"  she  admitted.  "But  you  see  I've  heard 
it  so  often,  and  it's  never  done  any  harm." 

"Often?     You  never  mentioned  it  before." 


28  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Her  color  heightened  further  at  my  tone  of  re- 
proach. She  came  closer  and  perched  on  the  arm 
of  my  chair,  smoothing  my  old  bald  head  gently. 

"No,  I  never  spoke  of  it.  Even  Lewis  doesn't 
know — except  he's  heard  Peter  joking  about  it  some- 
times. Maybe  I'll  tell  him  after  w-e're  married;  but 
I  couldn't  bear  to  have  him  laugh  at  me.  It's  bad 
enough  to  have  your  brother  always  making  fun, 
without  your — your  fiance,  too.  But  the  ghost — 
well,  it's  come  a  dozen  times  or  more.  The  first 
time  was — let  me  see!  It  was  about  a  year  ago. 
I  know^  it  was  after  mother  died,  and  Aunt  Mary 
came  here  to  live,  because  I  remember  how  indignant 
she  was.  Just  pooh-poohed  and  said  it  was  all  my 
imagination.  But  afterward  she  heard  it,  too;  and 
then  she  began  to  read  and  study  about  spirits,  until 
now  she's  a  confirmed  spiritualist — uses  the  ouija 
board  and  everything.  But  she  never  wants  the 
Poltergeist  talked  about  outside  the  family. 

"What  does  it  do?  Why,  little,  mean  tricks.  It 
gets  into  the  cupboards  and  steals  things  and  breaks 
dishes;  and  it  bangs  the  furniture  about,  and  some- 
times it  screams  like  it  did  last  night.  Peter  sat  up 
to  watch  several  times,  but  he  never  saw  anything, 
though  one  night  it  pulled  the  chair  out  from  under 
him.  Peter  claims  he  just  went  to  sleep  and  fell 
over,  but  I  know  better.  It  was  the  Poltergeist! 
Aunt  Mary  claims  you  never  can  see  them — they're 
invisible.  She  says  they  never  do  any  real  harm, 
only  these  little  tricks,  like  breaking  dishes  and  all 
that.  But  it  is  kind  of  unsettling,  Uncle  George. 
I'll  be  glad  when  Lewis  and  I  are  married,  and  we 


BOBWHITE  29 

can  leave  this  old  house  for  good.  Only  think, 
Uncle  George,  three  days  more!" 

Then  she  jumped  up  with  a  cry.  "My  goodness, 
Lewis  is  coming  over  to  breakfast,  and  here  it  is 
seven  o'clock  and  after,  and  me  not  even  dressed! 
I  must  run.  Bother  the  Poltergeist!  Aunt 
Mary'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  if  you  can  once 
get  her  started.  She  loves  to  talk  about  ghosts. 
I've  often  wondered  how  she  refrained  from  telling 
Lewis.  And  say" — she  darted  back  to  my  side  and 
w^hispered — ''say.  Uncle  George,  be  awful  nice  to 
her  this  morning;  jolly  her  up  a  little,  will  you? 
She  will  be  in  a  terrible  temper,  I'm  afraid." 

She  dropped  a  swift  kiss  upon  my  bald  spot  and 
ran  out. 

I  settled  back  to  wait  for  breakfast,  rather  im- 
patiently, I  must  admit,  for  the  night  had  tired  me, 
and  I  craved  hot  coffee.  But  in  twenty  minutes 
Dorothy  was  back,  demure  and  immaculate  in  a  little 
blue-and-white  gingham. 

"Come  along,"  she  urged.  "Let's  go  in  and  get 
started.  We  won't  wait  for  Lewis;  he'll  be  along 
directly.  I  want  everything  fixed  and  ready  before 
Aunt  Mary  comes  out." 

So  she  led  the  w^ay  into  the  dining  room,  and  I 
followed  gratefully.  I  sat  down,  and  Dorothy  began 
to  hurry  Rosina. 

"Quick,  Rosina,"  she  directed.  "Bring  in  the 
coffeepot  and  those  muffins.  And  get  a  fresh  pat 
of  butter;  this  looks  mussy.     I  hear  aunty." 

The  fat,  motherly  black  cook  gave  one  apprehen- 
sive   glance    at    the    doorway,    smoothed    her    crisp 


30  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

apron  and  fled.  I  wondered  briefly  that  her  house- 
hold should  be  in  such  patent  fear  of  that  sweet, 
heroic  old  lady,  Miss  Mary  McGregor. 

Then  I,  too,  heard  the  creak  of  her  wheel  chair, 
and  presently  Aunt  Mary  appeared  in  the  door, 
riding  in  the  invalid's  chair  in  which  she  spent  all 
her  waking  hours.  Miss  Christie  propelled  it,  look- 
ing fresh  and  wholesome  enough,  in  her  ckan  white 
uniform,  but  yawning  still.  She  was  a  sleepy  sort 
of  girl,  a  very  sleepy  sort! 

Aunt  Mary  greeted  us  with  her  sad,  patient  smile, 
a  smile  to  bring  tears  to  your  eyes,  it  was  so 
obviously  a  struggle  against  despair.  My  heart 
went  out  to  her  for  her  pathetic  bravery,  poor,  frail 
old  lady!  Her  high-bred  face  beneath  the  crown 
of  snow-white  hair  was  pale  and  worn;  she  sighed 
deeply. 

**Good  morning,  all,''  she  quavered,  her  eyes 
bright  with  unshed  tears ;  then  she  bit  her  lip  and 
smiled  again  determinedly. 

''Good  morning,  aunty.  Why,  you're  looking 
quite  bright,  aren't  you?  Wheel  her  right  up  here, 
Miss  Christie ;  everything's  all  ready.  Here,  aunty, 
here's  your  orange  juice,  all  iced.  Drink  it  right 
down,  there's  a  dear.  Rosina!  A  nice,  hot  cup  of 
coffee  for  Aunty  Mary — quick!  I  got  up  early, 
Aunt  Mary,  on  purpose  to  make  muffins  for  you ; 
don't  they  look  nice  and  appetizing?  I'll  butter  one 
and  just  pop  it  into  your  mouth,  shall  I?  I'm  sure 
you're  hungry  this  morning;  you  look  so  rested. 
You  must  have  had  a  very  good  night."' 

Breathlessly,    with    a    sort    of    desperate    gayety, 


BOBWHITE  31 

Dorothy  talked  against  time.  Her  aunt  listened  im- 
patiently, still  wearing  that  pathetic  smile;  with 
parted  lips  she  evidently  waited  only  an  opportunity 
to  interrupt.     And  now  she  found  it. 

"A  good  night!"  She  sighed  deeply,  tragically. 
*'My  dear!  As  though  my  nights  were  ever  restful. 
I'm  used  to  wakeful  nights,  and  you  know  I'm  not 
one  to  complain  of  the  afflictions  the  Lord  has  seen 
fit  to  visit  upon  me.  I  try  to  bear  them  patiently 
and  to  keep  sweet.  But  last  night  was  terrible!  It 
was  so  sweet  of  you,  my  dear,  to  come  to  my  door 
in  the  night.  Dorothy  is  always  so  thoughtful  of  her 
poor  old  aunt,  Mr.  Uhlman.  I  hadn't  heard  a  sound ; 
I  was  just  beginning  to  doze  off,  and  I  thought  to 
myself,  'I  do  believe  I'm  going  to  rest  an  hour  or 
two,'  when  Dorothy  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was 
very  kindly;  Dorothy  is  inclined  to  be  timid  about 
the  manifestations,  Mr.  Uhlman — the  Poltergeist, 
you  know.  She  hasn't  studied  spiritism  as  deeply 
as  I  have,  of  course.  She  naturally  thinks  I  am 
timid,  too;  and  so,  being  the  most  unselfish  of 
children,  she  comes  to  me  at  once.  Bless  her!  I 
hope  you  had  no  trouble  getting  about,  Mr.  Uhlman; 
those  stairs  creak  so,  Fm  always  afraid  some  one 
may  stumble.  I  heard  you  going  back  to  your 
room.  I'd  been  feeling  so  rested,  but,  after  you  two 
had  gone,  I  had  such  a  terrible  palpitation,  and  my 
neck  knotted  very  badly.  You  know,  Mr.  Uhlman, 
I  have  so  much  trouble  with  the  back  of  my  neck. 
I  can't  think  what  brought  it  on.  I  was  resting  so 
nicely  before  you  two  came  in,  but  afterward  I  had 
such  a  hard  time!" 


Z2  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

She  paused  to  heave  a  vast  sigh  and  absorb  an 
equally  vast  bite  of  buttered  muffin.  "But  I  mustn^t 
complain.  I'm  only  thankful  that  the  Lord  sends 
me  strength  to  bear  my  troubles  patiently.  I  did 
get  settled  a  trifle  about  daybreak,  and  then  the 
birds  began.  Those  quail,  you  know,  bobwhites!  I 
suppose  it's  my  condition  and  perfectly  absurd,  so, 
of  course,  I  never  complain  about  it;  but  those  birds 
set  my  nerves  on  edge  so  I  can  feel  it  all  down  my 
spine  and  into  my  limbs.  You've  no  idea.  I  bore 
it  as  long  as  I  could,  but  finally  I  was  simply  com- 
pelled to  call  Miss  Christie."  She  paused  to  cough. 
"I'm  rather  hoarse,  I'm  afraid.  Miss  Christie  sleeps 
so  soundly,  the  poor  dear!"  Here  she  gave  her 
nurse  an  affectionate  smile.  "I'm  a  dreadful  trouble 
to  you,  am  I  not?  Eventually  I  managed  to  wake 
her,  and  she  threw  a  stick  out  of  the  window  to  drive 
the  birds  away.  By  that  time  my  back  was  paining 
me  so  I  couldn't  possibly  rest." 

Aunt  Mary  stopped,  beamed  upon  us  with  that 
plaintive,  angelic  look  and  devoted  herself  to  her 
muffins  and  coffee.  Having  succeeded  so  admirably 
in  putting  us  all  three  in  the  wrong,  apf>ortioning 
justly  to  each  his  share  in  her  discomforts  of  the 
night,  all  in  the  sweetest,  most  kindly  fashion  in  the 
world,  she  appeared  to  feel  rather  better.  We  others 
looked  at  our  plates.  I,  for  one,  felt  my  ears  burn, 
and  my  appetite  seemed  to  have  left  me.  I  began 
to  reahze  that  it  is  not  always  easy  to  live  with  the 
most  sweetly  patient  of  invalids.  And  yet  Dorothy's 
attitude  seemed  rather  callous.  Poor  Aunt  Mary! 
She  had  a  great  deal  to  bear,  after  all !    I  reproached 


BOBWHITE  33 

myself  for  having  added,  however  unwittingly,  to 
her  discomforts. 

Upon  the  little  hush  came  the  sound  of  the  door- 
bell, and  Dorothy  flew  to  answer  it,  her  face  bright- 
ening beautifully.  Presently  she  returned,  clinging 
to  the  arm  of  my  nephew,  Doctor  C.  Lewis  Parker. 
Tall  and  spare  he  towered  above  her,  and  his  black 
eyes  looked  down  adoringly  into  her  blue  ones. 

''Good  morning,  Aunt  Mary!"  He  bowed  over 
her  frail  hand  with  a  stately  courtesy  that  w^as  not 
unbecoming.  "Hello,  Uncle  George.  Good  morning, 
Miss  Christie.  Sorry  to  be  late,  honey.  I  had  to 
make  a  call.  Did  you  save  me  some  coffee?  Oh, 
good  morning,  Rosina!  You  didn't  forget  me,  did 
you?" 

The  fat  cook  beamed  at  him,  rolling  admiring 
eyes.  Servants  are  always  fond  of  my  nephew. 
"Nossuh,  Mist'  Lewis — doctah.  Ah  means.  Ah 
done  fetched  yuh  a  special  cup,  made  strong,  suh." 

The  doctor  sat  down  and  unfolded  his  napkin. 
*'Well,  honey,  what  were  you  talking  about?'' 

Dorothy  smiled  demurely,  with  a  sly  glance  at 
me.  ''Why,  about  ghosts,  Lewis — about  our  an- 
cestral spook." 

Lewis  stared  and  stroked  his  little  black  mustache. 
His  face  was  square,  and  his  high  cheek  bones  gave 
it  a  solemn  look,  almost  Indian.  "About  ghosts? 
Nonsense!  There's  no  such  thing  as  a  ghost!"  If 
my  nephew  had  a  fault,  it  was  that  he  was  a  shade 
too  serious,  a  bit  too  literal-minded.  He  was  not 
overendowed  with  humor. 

His  pronouncement  provoked  a  frank  laugh  from 


34  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Dorothy.  I  think  she  thoroughly  enjoyed  his 
solemnity.     But  Miss  McGregor  bridled. 

"Indeed!     Young  man "     Then  she  broke  off 

quite  suddenly  and  resumed  her  normal  sweetness 
of  temper.  One  might  have  fancied  that  she  did 
not  care  to  discuss  spirits  with  Lewis.  "My  niece 
is  jesting,"  she  went  on,  with  a  pale,  patient  smile. 
"I'm  afraid  I  wearied  her.  It  is  too  easy  to  bore 
the  young  and  healthy,  when  one  is  an  old,  worth- 
less invalid.  I'm  sorry,  my  dear.  I  know  I  must  be 
a  great  trial,  but  I'm  thankful  that  I  can  drop  into 
the  background  gracefully.  I  bear  my  trials  as  best 
I  can.  You  all  know  I  never  complain.  I  realize 
that  I  can't  expect  much  attention  from  happy,  care- 
free young  folks,  and  I  don't  look  for  it.  I  know 
an  invalid  is  always  a  burden,  so  I  try  not  to  make 
things  too  hard  for  poor  Dorothy;  she's  so  self- 
sacrificing!  Ah,  if  I  were  only  able,  how  I  would 
love  to  turn  in  and  help  get  ready  for  the  wedding! 
But  all  I  can  do  is  sit  back  and  wish  you  well, 
children,  and  say  nothing  when  my  few  wants  are 
forgotten.  I  know  I  can't  expect  attention  with  a 
w^edding  only  three  days  off,  and  I  don't  expect  it. 
I  just  love  the  happy  stir  and  bustle  of  preparation; 
I  seem  to  grow  young  again,  because  I  share 
Dorothy's  pleasure  so  keenly.  Perhaps  it's  that 
which  has  made  me  so  restless  of  late.  I've  suffered 
much  more  than  usual  this  week;  no  doubt  it  has 
been  the  excitement.  But  I  wouldn't  have  it  changed 
for  worlds;  I  enjoy  it  so!  What  are  a  few  more 
sleepless  nights,  a  few^  more  pains,  to  me?  I  have 
had  so  many — so  many!"     She  sighed  deeply,  with 


BOBWHITE  35 

that  sweet,  suffering  smile  of  one  too  ethereal  for 
this  rough  world.  "You  must  bear  with  me,  children. 
A  few  days,  and  3^ou'll  be  gone,  happy  in  each  other, 
leaving  me  to  my  solitude  and  suffering.  Ah,  it's 
better  so!  I  shall  be  happy,  knowing  that  I  am  no 
longer  a  damper  on  your  joys." 

Aunt  Mary  wiped  away  a  tear  and  looked  more 
seraphic  than  ever.  Dorothy  and  Lewis,  unreason- 
ably enough,   appeared   rather   downcast. 

The  girl  looked  whimsically  at  Lewis;  I  fancy  she 
squeezed  his  hand  under  the  table.  Then  she  dropped 
her  napkin  and,  under  cover  of  retrieving  it,  whis- 
pered swiftly  to  me : 

"Don't  mind  aunty — in  bad  temper!" 

So  she  seemed  to  be.  I  was  rather  taken  aback 
by  the  revelation.  I  wondered  how  often  Miss 
McGregor  was  in  this  mood,  and  my  sympathy  for 
her  niece  increased  momently.  If  the  old  lady  had 
been  humanly  irritable  it  wouldn't  have  been  so 
bad;  but  this  pious,  sweet-toned  flood  of  indirect 
complaint  was  hard  to  bear.  One  felt  hopelessly  in 
the  wrong;  one  felt  that  Aunt  Mary  was  forbearing 
and  magnanimous  in  spite  of  her  pains;  and  one 
rebelled  thereat. 

"Fm  sorry  you're  having  a  bad  time,"  said  Lewis 
apologetically.  "Is  there  anything  I  could  do.  Aunt 
Mary?" 

She  sighed.  "I  think  I  could  stand  every^thing  else 
if  it  weren't  for  the  quail.  Doctor  Parker" — she 
never  could  be  induced  to  call  my  nephew  "Lewis" 
— "Doctor  Parker,  those  birds  drive  me  almost  mad! 
You  know,  I  sleep  very  poorly;  about  dawn  I  used 


36  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

to  be  able  to  settle  down  for  a  little  nap.  But  it's 
just  then  that  the  quail  begin:  'Bohwhite!  hohii'hife!^ 
— until  I  could  just  scream  with  the  knots  in  my 
neck.  I  don't  know  what's  going  to  become  of  me; 
I  can't  stand  it  much  longer.  You  know  I'm  not  one 
to  complain;  I  try  to  bear  my  burdens  patiently,  but 
I've  reached  the  end  of  my  strength.  Dorothy  and 
Peter  don't  realize  how  I've  been  tried,  because  I 
never  talk  about  it;  Peter  just  laughs,  when  he 
could  have  taken  his  gun  and  driven  them  away. 
But,  if  those  quail  keep  whistling  under  my  window 
much  longer,  I  shall  go  mad!" 

She  finished  in  a  rush  of  words,  as  her  face  con- 
torted queerly,  and  her  eyes  reddened  and  filled  with 
tears. 

"Oh,  aunty!"  cried  Dorothy  remorsefully. 

My  nephew  rose  and  came  round  the  table  to  pat 
the  old  lady's  hand  comfortingly.  "Never  mind, 
Aunt  Mary;  I'll  see  to  it  for  you.  Peter  w^on't  be 
back  till  to-morrow  night,  but  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't 
mind  my  borrowing  his  shotgun.  I'll  get  up  at  day- 
break in  the  morning  and  come  over  here  and  shoot 
those  quail  for  you.  There  can't  be  more  than  three 
or  four,  I  don't  think;  they've  nested  into  the  scrub 
oaks  out  back,  most  likely.  I'll  see  to  it.  Aunt  Mary, 
don't  you  fret  any  more!" 

Miss  McGregor  seemed  a  little  comforted.  "I'm  a 
troublesome  old  woman,"  she  sighed,  "but  you  don't 
realize  what  I  suffer!"  Then  she  rewarded  Lewis 
with  her  sweet,  patient  smile,  albeit  a  bit  weak  and 
w^atery. 


CHAPTER  III 

A    BAD    SPELL 

•T^E  nurse  wheeled  Aunt  Mary  back  to  her  room 
■■'  to  rest,  and  we  others  rose.  Our  breakfast  had 
been  pretty  effectually  spoiled;  none  of  us,  except 
Aunt  Mary,  had  managed  to  eat  much.  The  old 
lady,  however,  had  put  away  an  excellent  meal  in 
spite  of  her  sufferings. 

''Poor  old  dear!"  sighed  Lewis.  ''Honey,  I'm 
afraid  we've  been  selfish  in  our  happiness;  we  haven't 
thought  enough  of  Aunt  Mary.  After  all  she's  a 
great  sufferer." 

I  started;  that  was  so  exactly  Miss  McGregor's 
opinion.  Dorothy  looked  at  her  lover  almost  sus- 
piciously, but  he  was  perfectly  serious.  As  I  have 
said,  my  nephew  was  very  serious-minded. 

The  girl  sighed  in  relief  and  flashed  an  impudent 
glance  at  me.  "Yes,  poor  aunty,"  she  said.  "She's 
a  great  sufferer,  and  she  never  complains." 

"That's  what  makes  it  so  pitiful,"  declared  Lewis 
soberly.  "But  come  out  doors  a  minute,  honey;  let's 
look  over  things  and  see  if  we  can't  locate  those 
quail." 

Knowing  very  well  that  I  wasn't  wanted,  I  watched 
through  the  window,  as  the  two  young  folks  walked, 
hand  in  hand,  down  the  path,  which  led  through  the 
pines  at  the  east  of  the  old  house,  into  the  thick 
scrub  oak  jungle  behind  it.  Although  in  the  heart 
of   a   sizable   village,    it   was   a   solitary   spot.      The 


38  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

grounds  of  Fort  House  took  in  an  entire  block;  and 
in  its  center  one  might  well  have  fancied  himself  in 
the  heart  of  the  wilderness. 

Thinking  themselves  out  of  sight,  no  doubt,  the 
two  lovers  stood  very  close.  Dorothy's  head  rested 
against  my  nephew^s  shoulder;  her  face  was  up- 
turned to  his.  I  sighed  and  turned  away.  I  am  a 
lonely  old  man. 

Then  I  heard  Rosina's  voice  l>ehind  me.  "Mist' 
Uhlman,  is  Mist'  Lewis  done  gone?  They's  a  tele- 
grum  comed,  an'  the  boy  done  fotch  it  oveh,  seein' 
they  wa'n't  nobody  home  to  his  place." 

I  took  the  yellow  envelope.  ''All  right,  Rosina. 
He's  out  back  with  Miss  Dorothy.  There  they  come, 
now!"  I  stepped  through  the  open  French  doors 
to  meet  them. 

Lewis  took  the  telegram,  with  that  hint  of  flurry 
which  touches  every  one  at  sight  of  the  yellow  en- 
velope. 

"What?  Oh,  yes!  It's  from  old  Floyd  Somers. 
He  was  my  classmate  at  medical  school,  you  know; 
he's  on  the  staff  of  some  hospital  for  the  insane  up 
North.  See  what  he  says."  He  read  the  message 
over  and  scowled  and  smiled  rather  doubtfully,  then 
scowled  again.  *'  'Sincere  condolences.  Glad  to  act 
as  chief  mourner.     Arrive  Monday.'  " 

Doroth}^  flushed  and  bit  her  lip.  "I  don't  care, 
I  think  that's  a  great  way  to  promise  he'll  be  your 
best  man.     No  wonder  he's  in  a  lunatic  asylum." 

My  nephew  laughed  rather  uneasily.  "Oh,  that's 
just  Somers'  way.  He's  a  queer  old  chap,  but  I'm 
sure  you'll  like  him,  honey." 


A  BAD  SPELL  39 

"I'm  not,  then!  'Condolences!'  The  very  idea!" 
Then  she  chuckled.  ''After  all,  it  is  kind  of  a  funny- 
telegram.  Maybe  he  won't  be  so  sure  you  need 
condolences" — very  demurely — "after  he's  seen  me!" 

"You  little  minx!"  Lewis  kissed  her  soundly. 
"But  really,  honey,  Floyd  Somers  is  a  fine  old  chap. 
He  may  seem  queer  at  first,  but,  when  you  get  to 
know  him,  he's  one  of  the  very  best." 

"Huh!"  Dorothy  made  a  little  face.  "Run  along 
now,  boy,  and  get  to  work.  You're  going  to  have 
a  very  expensive  wife  presently,  and  you  can't  afford 
to  neglect  your  practice." 

As  we  came  down  the  front  steps,  Doctor  Gaskell's 
big  twin-six  coupe  backed  silently  out  of  the  garage 
behind  his  house,  just  opposite,  and  started  down 
street.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  doctor's  face, 
incongruously  young  beneath  his  crown  of  snow- 
white  hair;  he  smiled  and  raised  an  arm  in  greeting. 

I  lifted  my  hat.  To  my  mind  Gaskell  was  a  fine 
chap.  Some  twenty-five  years  older  than  Lewis  he 
had  been  located  in  Pinelands  for  more  than  twenty 
years,  and  the  cream  of  the  practice  was  naturally 
his.  But  he  had  been  very  gracious  to  my  nephew 
and  had  sent  him  more  than  one  case. 

Lewis,  however,  was  less  grateful.  Now  he 
scowled  blackly.     "Darn  his  patronizing  ways!" 

"My  boy,  he's  been  awfully  good  to  you." 

"Huh?  Oh,  yes — very  good!  He's  sent  me  a 
few  dead  beats  because  he  was  tired  of  treating  them 
for  nothing;  and  he's  turned  over  half  a  dozen  night 
calls  because  he  hates  to  get  out  of  bed.  And  he 
goes    round    saying:     'Parker?      Oh,    yes,     Doctor 


40  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Parker.  Yes,  hum,  hum!  Fine  young  chap,  that; 
bright,  too.  Of  course  he  hasn't  had  much  experi- 
ence yet'  And  it  does  me  more  harm  than  if  he'd 
slam  me  outright." 

I  was  silenced.  So  we  went  on  home,  only  a 
short  block,  and  the  boy  got  out  his  modest  flivver 
to  begin  his  own  rounds,  which  were  short  enough. 
As  I  have  said,  Lewis  had  been  only  a  year  in  Pine- 
lands.  Ke  was  making  a  living — and  no  more. 
Fortunately  I  had  some  money. 

But  he  was  not  destined  to  make  his  calls  yet. 
For,  just  as  he  climbed  into  the  little  car,  while  I 
stood  on  the  steps  to  watch  him  off,  Rosina  came 
panting  around  the  corner. 

"Oh,  Mist'  Lewis!"  she  wheezed.  "Mist'  Doctahl 
Come  a-runnin' !  Miss  Dor'thy's  Aunt  Ma'y,  she's 
done  been  took  dretful  bad."  Rosina's  eyes  rolled 
fearsomely.  "She's  a-hollerin'  an'  a-takin'  on  ter- 
rible. Yassuh!  Whyn't  you-all  answer  the  phone? 
Miss  Dor'thy,  she  wants  you  t'  come  a-runnin'. 
Yassuh!" 

"Oh,  the  poor  old  lady!  I'll  be  there  directly. 
Come  along.  Uncle  George;  you  can  help,  maybe. 
Quick!" 

Lewis  urged  me  into  the  little  car  and,  scarce 
waiting  for  me  to  close  its  door,  started  at  top  speed 
for  Fort  House.  In  thirty  seconds  the  flivver  was 
sliding  to  a  stop,  and  my  nephew  leaped  out,  leaving 
me  to  turn  off  the  engine  and  follow. 

I  entered  to  find  Aunt  Mary  in  her  wheel  chair  in 
the  big  living  room.  Dorothy,  white-faced,  stood 
at  one  side,   wringing  her  hands;  the  nurse,   Miss 


A  BAD  SPELL  41 

Christie,  was  behind  the  chair,  bathing  the  old  lady's 
forehead.  As  I  came  in  the  nurse  yawned  widely. 
She  did  not  seem  one  to  distress  herself  unduly. 

Lewis  leaned  over  the  chair,  counting  Miss  Mc- 
Gregor's pulse.  The  old  lady  was  very  pale;  her 
eyehds  fluttered,  her  head  drooped,  as  if  she  were 
half  fainting;  she  talked  in  a  weak,  trembling  voice. 

"No,  I  can't  go  to  bed.  I  can't  lie  down;  I 
couldn't  breathe,  my  heart  pounds  so.  I — I  think 
I'm  going  to  faint.  I  have  such  queer  feelings  all 
down  my  left  arm,  and  my  limbs  are  just  numb,  way 
up  to  the  hips.  Am  I  having  a  stroke,  doctor?  I'm 
afraid  so.  Oh,  my  heart!  There's  a  great  ball  in 
my  throat,  and  the  back  of  my  neck  knots  so  ter- 
ribly! Miss  Christie!  Not  there?  Please,  rub  my 
neck  very  gently.  Ah-h-h!  I'm  a  great  sufferer — a 
great  sufferer!  Don't  trouble  about  me,  Dorothy 
— run  off  and  do  your  shopping.  I  know  you've 
lots  to  do,  getting  ready  to  be  married.  Ah,  well! 
I  shan't  be  here  long  to  be  a  trouble  to  you!" 

She  groaned  aloud;  her  face  began  to  twitch 
alarmingly;  her  eyes  rolled  up  until  only  the  whites 
W'Cre   visible.      *'I — I'm    f-fainting!'* 

My  nephew  put  his  stethoscope  to  her  chest,  felt 
her  pulse  once  more,  then  stepped  back,  irresolute. 

''Lewis!  Lewis!"  exclaimed  Dorothy.  "Aren't 
you  going  to  do  anything  for  poor  auntie?     Quick!" 

The  boy  frowned  deeper.  He  opened  his  bag  and 
produced  a  bottle.  "A  spoon,  please,  with  a  cup  and 
some  hot  water." 

When  they  were  brought  he  poured  out  some 
potion  that  diffused  a  strong  scent  of  ammonia  and 


AO 


THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 


ether.  Aunt  Mary  swallowed  it  with  faint  gurglings, 
and  her  eyelids  drooped  once  more. 

Lewis  scowled  and  rubbed  his  chin.  **I  don't 
understand  it,"  he  said.  ''Her  heart's  all  right — 
strong  and  regular.  But  she's  in  dreadful  pain;  one 
can  see  that.  I — I'd  like  to  have  somebody  else 
see  her.    Well,  we  must  get  her  into  bed  first." 

As  she  was  wheeled  back  into  her  own  room, 
where  she  was  shut  in  with  nurse  and  physician, 
Dorothy  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  some  doubt. 

"It's  no  wonder  if  Lewis  is  puzzled,"  declared 
the  girl  loyally.  ''Aunt  Mary's  is  a  very  unusual 
case;  I  don't  know  how  many  doctors  have  disagreed 
about  it.  She's  often  told  me  so  herself."  The  girl 
paused,  looked  guiltily  about  and  then  came  very 
close.  "You  know,  Uncle  George,"  she  whispered, 
her  fragrant  breath  on  my  cheek,  "sometimes  I 
wonder  if  auntie  is  really  as  bad  off  as  she  thinks. 
Oh,  she's  paralyzed,  of  course,  and  it's  an  awful 
thing  to  be  tied  to  a  chair  like  she  is,  not  able  to 
stand  or  walk  or  do  anything  for  herself.  But,  I 
know  it's  just  horrid  of  me,  I  do  wonder  if  she 
suffers  as  much  as  she  makes  out  sometimes?  I 
know  I  stayed  with  her  one  night,  when  Miss 
Christie  was  away,  and  she  slept  every  minute ! 
And  next  morning  she  swore  up  and  down  she'd 
never  closed  her  eyes,  and  she  was  real  mad  at  me 
for  saying  she  had." 

"Your  aunt  has  a  hard  time,  my  dear,"  I  told  her. 
"And " 

Lewis  emerged  from  the  sick  room,  still  frown- 
ing.    "She  doesn't  seem  a  bit  better.     I  wish " 


A  BAD  SP£LL  43 

He  was  staring  out  of  the  window  at  Doctor  Gas- 
kell's  big  car,  just  stopping  in  front  of  his  house. 

*'l  beheve Darn  it,  I  hate  to  ask  any  favors  of 

Gaskell,  but  he's  older  than  I  am,  and  he  is  mighty 
clever.  I  believe  I'll  ask  him  to  come  over  and  see 
Aunt  Mary.  Something's  got  to  be  done  for  her 
right  away;  she's  in  dreadful  pain,  one  can  see." 

Without  more  words  he  ran  out,  calling  aloud. 

I  felt  a  surge  of  pride.  It  must  have  been  hard 
for  Lewis  to  admit  any  uncertainty  before  his  best- 
beloved,  and  doubly  hard  to  ask  aid  of  Gaskell,  whom 
he  disliked  so  heartily.  Yet  the  boy  was  big  enough 
to  submerge  his  pride  for  the  sake  of  his  patient's 
well-being. 

"He's  a  good  boy,  Dorothy,'*  I  whispered,  and  she 
nodded,  squeezing  my  hand. 

Then  Lewis  returned,  escorting  Doctor  Gaskell. 
I  had  to  admit  that  the  latter's  very  manner  inspired 
confidence.  His  deep-set  eyes  were  bright  and  steady, 
and  his  smile  was  disarmingly  cordial.  He  smoothed 
back  his  thick,  snow-white  hair. 

''Well,  Miss  Dorothy!  In  trouble?  We'll  go  right 
in,  doctor.  Have  to  do  something  for  the  old  lady 
right  aw^ay;  can't  have  her  sick  now,  with  a  wedding 
coming  on."  His  smile  broadened,  and  a  dimple 
showed  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

Bowing,  he  turned  away,  and  presently  we  heard 
his  deep  voice  in  the  bedroom.  "What?  Sitting 
up?  Fine!  Hum,  hum.  Just  wheel  her  back  out, 
nurse.     Better  light  in  the  big  room." 

Miss   McGregor   reappeared   in   her   chair.      "She 


44  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

wouldn't  get  into  bed,  doctor,"  explained  Miss 
Christie.     "Said  it  would  kill  her  to  be  moved." 

''Hum,  hum.  Not  quite  that  bad,"  rumbled  Doc- 
tor Gaskell,   chuckling. 

Aunt  Mary  opened  one  eye  to  shoot  a  curiously 
vindictive  glance  at  him,  then  she  groaned  aloud  and 
let  her  head  drop  limply  forward  again. 

''Hum,  hum,  hum,"  remarked  Doctor  Gaskell,  un- 
moved.    "Let's  look  at  you  now." 

With  swift,  practiced  hands  he  made  a  brief  ex- 
amination; taking  the  old  lady's  pulse,  listening  to 
her  heart,  tapping  her  knees  and  doing  all  the  mys- 
teriously impressive  things  that  doctors  do. 

Presently  he  straightened  up.  "She's  all  right," 
he  declared  brusquely.  "Not  a  thing  the  matter 
with  her;  a  bit  tired,  that's  all.  Go  to  bed,  madam, 
and  get  a  nap,  and  you'll  feel  better." 

Miss  McGregor's  head  jerked  up;  she  opened  her 
eyes  wide  and  fixed  the  physician  with  a  baleful 
glare.  I  caught  my  breath  in  wonder  that  an  old 
lady  so  patient  and  sweet-tempered  could  be  capable 
of  such  viciousness. 

But  it  was  over  in  a  breath,  and  Aunt  Mary's 
features  had  resumed  their  accustomed  expression  of 
suffering  sweetness. 

"No  doubt  you're  right,  doctor.  I — I  do  feel 
better."  So  gentle  and  kindly  was  her  smile  that  I 
w^ondered  if  my  eyes  had  not  deceived  me  just  now. 
"The  worst  is  over,  I  hope.  I'm  in  a  great  deal  of 
pain,  but  I  can  bear  it!" 

She  looked  so  white,  so  fragile;  her  weary  face, 
her    colorless,    quivering    lips,    told    such    a    tale    of 


A  BAD  SPELL  45 

suffering  bravely  borne  that  my  heart  swelled  with 
anger  at  the  callousness  of  this  doctor. 

Lewis  shared  my  feelings,  I  think,  for  he  drew 
Gaskell  to  one  side  and  seemed  to  remonstrate  with 
him  in  low,  angry  whispers.  The  older  man 
shrugged  and  smiled. 

"It's  all  right,  my  boy,"  he  answered  aloud.  'T 
admire  your  soft  heart,  but  this  is  plain  hysteria. 
What?  Paralyzed?  Oh,  yes,  she's  paralyzed,  but 
she's  not  suffering.  When  you've  seen  as  many 
women  as  I  have  with  'knots  in  the  back  of  their 
necks,'  you'll  realize  that  the  best  thing  to  do  is 
treat  'em  rough.  Sympathy  only  makes  'em  worse; 
and  it's  the  poor  folks  that  have  to  live  with  'em 
who  really  need  your  sympathy.  Hum,  hum!  You 
go  to  bed,  madam,  and  behave  yourself.  And,  if 
you  stop  taking  out  your  bad  temper  on  your 
family,  with  'bad  spells'  like  this,  you'll  feel  better 
— and  so  will  they." 

It  was  brutal — even  if  it  had  been  true  it  would 
have  been  brutal — but  it  seemed  efficacious.  Aunt 
]\Iary  straightened,  with  more  color  in  her  thin  face 
than  I  had  ever  seen  there.  Her  voice  was  full  and 
strong,  not  sweet  and  gentle  now,  but  sharp  enough. 

"You  get  out!"  she  said.  "Dorothy,  pay  him  and 
send  him  away.  You — you're  no  doctor!  I've  al- 
ways said  you  didn't  know  your  business,  insulting 
poor,  helpless  women  like  me!'* 

My  nephew  interposed.  He  was  perfectly  white, 
and  he  trembled  visibly. 

"Let  me,  Aunt  Mary!  Doctor  Gaskell,  you  are  a 
cad,  sir!     A  cad  and  an  ignoramus!     You're  a  dis- 


46  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

grace  to  onr  profession.  I — I" — he  mouthed  inar- 
ticulately, almost  beside  himself  with  rage — 'T — 
we'll  dispense  with  your  services,  sir.  I  may  be 
young  and  inexperienced,  but  I'm  not  heartless.  I 
— I Get  out,  sir!" 

I  caught  the  boy's  arm.  "Softly,  Lewis,  softly! 
Don't  forget  yourself.  You'd  better  go,  Doctor 
Gaskell.  I — I'm  sorry.  I  apologize,  sir.  My  nephew 
is  excited." 

"Hum,"  said  Doctor  Gaskell  quite  calmly.  "Hum, 
hum!  Yes,  well — good  day!"  He  bowed  to  Aunt 
Mary,  to  Dorothy,  to  Lewis,  and  me,  with  the  most 
exact  courtesy  and  went  out. 

'The  beast!"  exclaimed  Lewis. 

'Stop  that!"  I  said  to  him  severely.  "He  may 
have  been  wrong;  he  was  too  abrupt,  no  doubt.  But 
he  gave  his  honest  opinion;  and  that's  what  you 
wanted,  wasn't  it?  And  he  showed  much  more 
courtesy  than  you  did,  my  boy." 


ii' 


((( 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   FEUD 

MY  nephew  calmed  down  presently  and  apologized 
to  the  ladies  for  his  outburst.  It  had  been  a 
distressing  scene;  but,  whether  it  was  Doctor 
Gaskell's  rude  pronouncement,  or  excitement,  which 
caused  her  to  forget  her  troubles,  or  just  coinci- 
dence. Aunt  Mary  seemed  much  better  for  it.  She 
replied  rather  shortly  to  our  questions,  saying  that 
she  was  more  comfortable  **for  the  moment,"  that 
she  didn't  want  anything,  and  that  she'd  lie  down 
a  while  to  recuperate. 

Miss  Christie  wheeled  her  back  again  into  her 
bedroom,  apparently  quite  her  usual  sweetly,  patient 
self.  But  I  was  convinced,  none  the  less,  that  she 
would  not  lightly  forgive  Doctor  Gaskell. 

Poor  Dorothy  looked  dreadfully  flustered.  As  my 
nephew  left  us  to  give  the  nurse  some  last  directions, 
she  drew  me  out  into  the  dining  room. 

''I — I  don't  know  what  to  think,  Uncle  George," 
she  declared.  "I  know  Doctor  Gaskell  was  awfully 
harsh,  and  everything  like  that;  and  of  course  Lewis 
is  an  awfully  good  doctor,  and  I'm  sure  he  knows 
what  he's  talking  about,  but — ^but,  Uncle  George,  I 
do  believe  there  was  some  truth  in  what  Doctor 
Gaskell  said.  I  do,  I  do!  So  there!  You  haven't 
lived  with  Aunt  Mary  a  whole  year  like  I  have.  I 
do  believe  she  makes  out  her  pains  are  lots  worse 


48  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

than  they  are — sometimes;  I  do  beHeve  she  Hkes  to 
have  folks  say  how  patient  she  is,  and  how  she 
suffers.  If  she's  cross  with  me,  or  anything  upsets 
her,  I  do  beHeve  she  has  one  of  these  bad  spells, 
when  other  folks  would  just  be  cross  and  cranky. 
I  just  do!  But  you  won't  tell,  will  you?  You 
won't  breathe  it  to  a  soul  that  I  said  that,  will  you, 
Uncle  George?  Because,  maybe,  it's  just  my  mean- 
ness, and,  besides,  Lewis  wouldn't  like  it." 

So  I  promised.  Then  Lewis  appeared,  and  I  went 
out  with  him,  my  own  mind  considerably  unsettled 
by  doubts.  On  the  whole  I  was  inclined  to  agree 
with  Dorothy  that  Aunt  Mary,  despite  her  repeated 
claims  that  she  never  complained,  managed  to  make 
the  very  most  of  her  troubles.  My  nephew  was  still 
incensed;  he  snorted  wrathfully  at  intervals.  I 
thought  it  best  to  keep  my  suspicions  to  myself. 

"I'll  take  you  down  to  the  post  office,  unk,"  he 
said.  ''The  mail  must  be  in  by  now,  and  I've  got 
to  stop  at  the  drug  store,  anyhow." 

We  went  to  the  latter  place  first,  and  the  pharma- 
cist, Walter  Olsen,  hailed  my  nephew  with  joy. 

"Howdy,  doc!  Glad  you  came  in.  Come  on 
back  here." 

He  stooped  over  the  high  prescription  counter  at 
the  back  of  the  store,  his  inch-wide  blond  eyebrows 
working  up  and  down,  as  they  did  when  he  was 
puzzled.  He  was  conning  over  a  slip  of  paper,  and 
this  he  handed  to  my  nephew. 

"See  if  you  can  make  that  out,  doc?  Gaskell's 
worse  than  usual  lately;  can't  read  his  writing  at  all. 


A  FEUD  49 

And  he's  gone  off  somewhere,  and  Satterfield  may  be 
in  any  minute  after  this." 

Lewis  took  the  prescription  and  studied  it  for  a 
moment.  'Tincture  aconite,  one  drachm/'  he  read. 
*'Bellonia — no,  belladonna,  a  scruple."  Then  he 
paused,  staring  over  the  paper  at  the  druggist.  "Sat- 
terfield, did  you  say?  Ralph  Satterfield?  Why,  the 
Satterfields  are  my  patients!  What  in  thunder  does 
Gaskell  mean,  stealing  my  cases?" 

He  threw^  the  prescription  dowm  angrily,  his  hot 
temper  all  aflame.  My  nephew  had  a  healthy  opinion 
of  his  own  dignity.  ''I  won't  waste  my  time  on  it!" 
he  flared.  "Let  Gaskell  translate  his  own  scrawls. 
What  a  dirty  trick,  stealing  my  patients!  I  never 
did  think  much  of  Gaskell,  but  I  supposed  he  had 
some  idea  of  ethics.  Wonder  if  he  ever  heard 
of  professional  etiquette?" 

"Now,  now,  doc,"  soothed  Olsen.  He  was  a 
mild,  pacific  chap.  "Don't  let  it  upset  you.  There 
must  be  some  mistake.  Doctor  Gaskell  wouldn't  do 
that,  I'm  sure."  Stealing  another  man's  patients  is 
one  of  the  high  crimes  of  medicine.  "You  better 
just  ask  him  about  it;  likely  Satterfield  told  him 
you'd  stopped  coming." 

"Nonsense!"  replied  Lewis.  "I  was  out  there 
yesterday;  I  was  on  my  way  there  this  morning.  It's 
the  boy,  Johnny,  isn't  it?"  He  picked  up  the  pre- 
scription once  more.  ''Jo^^  Satterfield!  That's  my 
case;  I'm  treating  that  boy.  Gaskell  just  butted  in 
on  me  without  a  word.  Confound  him,  he's  always 
playing  me  some  dirty  trick!" 

His  voice  was  high;  one  or  two  loafers  in  the 


50  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

front  of  the  store  heard  him  and  came  back  to 
peer  over  the  high  screen.     Olsen  looked  troubled. 

"Wish  I'd  let  Ralph  wait  tiil  I  could  locate 
Gaskell,"  Olsen  said  to  me  helplessly.  "I  hate  to 
start  trouble  like  this."  He  craned  his  neck  to  peer 
over  the  screen,  as  the  front  door  opened.  ''Here's 
Satterfield  coming  now!"  he  announced  in  vast  relief. 
"You  talk  to  him,  doc;  see  if  he  don't  explain  this 
thing.     You  can  talk  right  back  here." 

He  beckoned  the  newcomer  and  led  us  to  a  small 
storeroom  behind  the  shop.  "You-all  can  talk  quiet 
in  there."  He  cast  a  worried  look  at  the  loungers, 
who  stared  and  whispered  in  front  of  the  counter. 

I  drew  my  nephew  into  the  room,  almost  by  force. 
"You  cool  off,  boy,"  I  ordered,  "or  else  let  me  talk 
to  him.  You're  making  a  show  of  yourself;  this 
thing'll  be  all  over  town  before  night." 

Thus  adjured,  Lewis  took  a  fresh  grip  on  himself 
and  turned  more  quietly  to  Satterfield.  The  latter 
was  a  tall,  gaunt,  slab-sided  individual  in  overalls 
and  a  battered  slouch  hat. 

"Look  here,  Satterfield,"  he  began,  "I  thought  I 
was  taking  care  of   Johnny?" 

The  other  rasped  a  stubbly  chin  and  pulled  at  his 
drooping  mustache,   in   obvious   embarrassment. 

"We-ell,  doc,  y'see "     He  paused,  shuffled  his 

feet  and  took  a  fresh  start.  "W'y,  th'  woman  got 
kinda  panicky  yestiddy  after  you  was  there.  Says 
th'  boy  was  worse,  sez  she,  an'  you  was  too  young, 
she  sez,  an'  we  gotta  have  Doc  Gaskell,  'at  she 
knowed,  she  sez,  an'  took  care  o'  her  w'en  th'  kids 
was  bomed,  sez  she." 


A  FEUD  51 

"Huh.  And  he  came  running,  didn't  he?  Glad 
enough  to  steal  one  of  my  patients  from  me." 

"W'y,  no,  doc,''  Satterfield  answered.  "Couldn't 
hardly  git  'im  out  there.  Says  we'd  got  another 
doctor,  and  we'd  ought  to  have  him.  Wouldn't  come 
until  finely  I  got  Bill  Sears  to'  drap  you  a  post  card, 
sayin'  we  didn't  want  yuh  t'  come  no  longer.  Ain't 
yuh  got  it  yit?" 

Lewis  glared,  open-mouthed,  taken  aback  by  this 
revelation.  But  I  think  his  anger  against  Gaskell 
only  burned  the  brighter  for  the  knowledge  that  he 
had  done  the  older  man  an  injustice. 

"He's  a  dirty  hound,  anyway,''  he  retorted.  "And 
as  for  you,  Satterfield,  you  must  think  a  lot  of  your- 
self, begging  help  from  the  man  who  put  you  in 
jail  last  month." 

The  other  reddened,  scowling  sullenly.  "That's 
between  him  an'  me,"  he  said. 

Gaskell  was  one  of  the  town  commissioners,  and 
he  had  been  acting  mayor  for  two  months,  during 
the  absence  of  Frank  Hayes.  And,  when  Satterfield 
had  been  brought  before  him,  charged  with  bootleg- 
ging, Gaskell  had  given  the  countryman  thirty  days 
on  the  roads. 

"That's  between  him  an'  me,"  said  Satterfield. 
"Cain't  nobody  send  me  to  th'  jail  house  'ithout 
payin'  f'r  it.  Fll  settle  with  Doc  Gaskell  yit — you 
see!  But  that  ain't  got  nothin'  t'  do  with  this  here; 
we-all  quit  doctorin'  with  you  an'  sent  f'r  Doc 
Gaskell,  see?  Yuh  got  anythin'  t'  say  about  that, 
huh?" 

He  glared  belligerently  at  Lewis.     I  fancy  that  his 


52  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

own  conscience  was  something  less  than  easy,  which 
naturally  made  him  irritable. 

"No,  no!"  I  told  him.  ''It's  all  right;  the  doctor 
is  perfectly  satisfied.     Come  along,  Lewis!" 

My  aged  nerves  had  stood  all  they  could  this 
morning.  I  hurried  my  nephew  out  of  the  place 
before  he  could  start  a  new  quarrel.  At  last  I 
got  the  boy  off  on  his  rounds,  in  a  tolerably  calm 
frame  of  mind,  and  I  walked  slowly  back  to  the 
house. 

My  heart  was  heavy.  Unless  he  learned  to  curb 
his  hot  temper  Lewis  could  not  hope  to  do  well 
here.  In  any  open  break  the  sympathy  of  the  towns- 
people would  naturally  go  to  Doctor  Gaskell,  the 
older  and  better-known  man.  Lewis  would  suffer, 
whatever  the  merits  of  the  case.  It  w^orried  me 
deeply. 

As  I  turned  onto  our  street,  I  noticed  a  team  of 
mules  standing  before  Doctor  Gaskell's  house,  and 
a  deep,  angry  roar  drew  my  eyes  to  his  front  porch. 

A  huge  old  man,  bearded  to  the  waist,  stood  on 
the  doctor's  porch,  a  wide-brimmed  felt  hat  thrust 
far  back  on  his  massive  head.  He  was  shouting  at 
a  thoroughly  frightened  negro  maid. 

''Out,  huh?  Gone  away,  huh?  He  better  be  gone 
away!     Where's  he  at,  huh?'' 

"G-gone  to  th'  h-hospital,  suh,"  answered  the  girl 
in  a  quavering  voice.  "He's  done  gone,  suh;  ain't 
gwine  be  back  ontwel  evenin'." 

"Huh?"  A  terrifying  snort  shook  the  air.  "You 
tell  'em  this  word  f'om  me,  f'om  Lafe  Rutledge, 
gyurl.    Tell  'im  he's  got  till  sunup  t'  settle,  an'  that's 


A  FEUD  55 

all.  I'll  be  down  to  tW  Pinelands  Hotel  all  evenin'. 
Ontel  sunup,  you  hear  me?" 

''Yassuh!  Oh,  yassuh.  I  shore  will  tell  th'  doc- 
tah !" 

The  giant  snorted  once  more,  tugged  at  his  flow- 
ing beard  and  turned  away.  His  heavy  cowhide 
boots  stamped  dowm  the  steps;  then  he  clambered  into 
his  wagon,  gathered  the  lines  and  lashed  his  mules 
to  a  run. 

Well,  Doctor  Gaskell's  troubles  were  his  own.  I 
was  more  concerned  with  my  nephew's,  and  I  feared 
that  his  hot  temper  would  provide  plenty  for  him. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  TRAGEDY 

THE  rest  of  that  day  passed  uneventfully  enough. 
When  he  returned  from  his  rounds  Lewis 
seemed  quite  himself  again,  and  that  afternoon  he 
went  off  to  Raleigh  cheerfully  enough,  to  hurry  the 
tailor  with  his  wedding  clothes. 

The  wedding  was  to  be  on  Wednesday,  at  noon; 
but  Dorothy  had  planned  a  rehearsal  for  Monday, 
when  her  Brother  Peter  would  be  back,  and  Lewis' 
best  man.  Doctor  Somers,  would  be  here.  And 
Tuesday  would  be  a  very  busy  day,  what  with  re- 
ceiving and  caring  for  the  many  out-of-town  guests. 
Saturday  was  the  boy's  last  chance  to  get  his  new 
clothes. 

Peter  McGregor  w-ould  not  return  until  Sunday 
afternoon,  so  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  stay  at 
Fort  House  another  night.  I  did  not  look  forward 
to  it  with  any  great  joy;  but  I  hoped  that  the  Polter- 
geist would  allow  me  a  few  hours'  rest,  though  I 
could  hardly  look  for  a  like  forbearance  from  bob- 
white. 

The  evening  went  off  tolerably  well.  Aunt  Mary 
was  quite  cheerful,  and  she  had  surprisingly  little 
to  say  about  her  throat  and  her  ''limbs'*  and  the 
knots  in  the  back  of  her  neck.  I  dozed  comfortably 
in  a  big  sleepy-hollow  chair,  half  listening  to 
Dorothy's  chatter  over  some  intimate  bit  of  finery. 


A  TRAGEDY  55 

And  the  nurse,  Miss  Christie,  slept  quite  frankly 
on  a  couch  in  the  corner.  She  was  never  at  a  loss 
how  to  spend  her  time. 

At  last  Dorothy  threw  her  embroidery  frame  at 
me.  "Go  to  bed,  Uncle  George!  You  haven't  heard 
one  thing  I've  been  saying  for  an  hour.  You  poor 
thing!     You're  all  tired  out." 

I  rubbed  my  eyes.  ^'Indeed  I  have;  I  was  very 
much  interested.  But,  perhaps,  I'd  better  go  to 
bed  now.  First,  though,  I  must  get  out  Peter's 
shotgun  and  set  it  beside  the  back  door,  v/here  Lewis 
can  get  it  in  the  morning.  He's  going  after  those 
quail,  you  know,  and  he  made  me  promise  to  set  out 
the  gun.     He  w^on't  be  back  till  midnight." 

"It's  up  in  Peters  room.  Come  along,  I'll  show 
you.  But  you'll  have  to  load  it  and  all  that,  Uncle 
George.     I  don't  know  a  thing  about  guns." 

Aunt  Mary  sniffed.  "It  used  to  be  the  pride  of 
the  McGregors  of  Maryland  that  the  ladies  of  the 
family  were  all  thorough  sportswomen.  Many  have 
been  the  days  I  spent  riding  to  hounds,  when  I  was 
your  age,  Dorothy;  on  many  a  morning  I  turned 
out  early  with  my  gun  for  duck  shooting,  or  to  go 
out  with  the  dogs  after  quail.  I  never  asked  any  help 
to  care  for  my  guns,  either.  But  that's  long,  long 
ago,  and  here  I  am,  a  poor,  crippled  old  woman,  tied 
to  a  chair,  these  fourteen  years.  Ah,  well!  Y'oung 
folks  aren't  what  they  were  in  my  day!" 

Her  lips  trembled;  her  eyes  suffused  with  tears. 
Fearing  another  outbreak  like  the  one  of  the  morn- 
ing I  cast  about  me  for  some  new  topic.  Just  then 
two  powerful  lights  flashed  briefly  through  the  win- 


56  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

dows  and  vanished  again.  I  glanced  out;  Doctor 
Gaskell's  big  car  had  just  swept  round  the  corner 
toward  his  garage. 

'The  doctor's  back,"  said  I  casually.  "Wonder 
if  he's  seen  Lafe  Rutledge." 

"Who?" 

I  jumped  at  the  sudden,  sharp  question  and 
wheeled.  Miss  Christie,  whom  I  had  supposed  asleep, 
as  usual,  had  leaped  up  from  her  couch  and  stood 
facing  me,  half  crouched.  For  once  her  eyes  were 
wide  open;  her  round,  dimpled  face  was  pale  and 
drawn;  her  hands,  clasped  at  her  breast,  trembled. 

"Who  did  you  say?'* 

"Why,"  I  answered,  wondering,  "a  man  called 
Rutledge.  He  was  asking  for  Doctor  Gaskell  this 
morning,  as  I  came  past.  The  doctor  was  out,  but 
he  left  a  message.  I  heard  it;  nobody  within  half  a 
mile  could  have  helped  hearing  it.  Said  his  name 
was  Lafe  Rutledge.  and  he'd  give  the  doctor  until 
sunup   to   settle — whatever   that   means." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  nurse,  and  the  vivid  horror 
in  her  face  made  her  suddenly  beautiful.  I  had 
never  noticed  her  looks  before ;  she  was  so  sleepily 
indifferent;  but  now  fear  transfigured  her. 

"Oh,  Lafe  Rutledge!  Are  you  sure?  A  great,  big 
old  man,  with  a  long  beard?" 

"And  a  voice  like  the  bull  of  Bashan — and  enor- 
mous boots!     Yes,  that's  the  gentleman." 

Without  another  word  Miss  Christie  ran  to  the 
door,  bareheaded  as  she  was,  and  tore  it  open. 

"Miss  Christie!  Nurse!"  It  was  Aunt  Mary's 
voice,    sharp,    domineering,    and   angry.      "Wliat   do 


A  TRAGEDY  57 

you  mean  by  this?  Come  back  here  at  once!  Take 
me  to  my  room!" 

The  girl  never  glanced  back.  "In  a  minute,"  she 
answered.  'T  can't  stop  now.  I'll  come  back 
directly."     The  door  slammed  after  her. 

We  three  stared  at  each  other.  *'Well!"  cried 
Dorothy.     "What  do  you  suppose  waked  her  up?" 

Aunt  Mary  bridled.  "Ungrateful  minx!  What 
does  she  mean  by  it,  leaving  me  this  way?  I'm 
tired,  and  I  want  her  to  rub  my  limbs  at  once !" 

"She'll  be  right  back,  I'm  sure,"  said  Dorothy, 
"Something  upset  her;  she  must  be  afraid  of  this 
man  Rutledge  for  some  reason.  The  poor  girl  looked 
scared  to  death." 

"She  should  consider  me,"  Insisted  Miss  McGregor 
inexorably.  "I  have  enough  to  bear,  without  my 
nurse  rushing  off  and  cutting  up  like  this.  This 
settles  it!  She  shall  go,  as  soon  as  I  can  find  some 
one  to  take  her  place!  I  never  liked  her;  I  might 
have  known  that  any  one  whom  that  wretch  Gaskell 
recommended  would  be  untrustworthy." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  wondering,  "Doctor  Gaskell  sent 
her  here?" 

Dorothy  nodded.  "Miss  O'Brien  had  to  leave,  and 
we  got  this  nurse  through  Doctor  Gaskell.  She 
comes  from  the  western  part  of  the  State,  up  in  the 
mountains   somewhere,   near  the   Tennessee   border.'* 

The  front  door  opened,  and  Miss  Christie  reap- 
peared, rather  out  of  breath,  but  sleepily  calm  as 
ever. 

"You  have  upset  me  seriously,''  declared  Aunt 
Mary   severely.      "My   limbs    tingle,    and   the   knots 


58  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

are  coming  in  my  neck.  Take  me  to  my  room  at 
once.     What  do  you  mean  by  dashing  off  this  way  ?" 

Her  voice  was  harsh,  almost  abusive.  I  sighed 
a  little,  to  think  how^  intimacy  was  shattering  my 
faith  in  Aunt  Mary's  saintliness.  It  was  a  myth, 
I  began  to  suspect.  Behind  the  old  lady's  angelic 
front  lurked  a  temper  quite  the  reverse  of  angelic. 

"I'm  sorry.  Miss  McGregor,"  answered  the  nurse 
meekly.  "I  had  to  go;  it  was  a  matter  •£  life  and 
death,  almost." 

Aunt  Mary  sniffed.  "Life  and  death,  indeed! 
How  about  my  life  and  death?  But  that's  of  no 
importance,  I  suppose;  I'm  only  a  poor,  helpless  old 
woman  that  everybody'll  be  glad  to  get  rid  of." 
Then  yielding,  I  suppose,  to  the  curiosity  which 
touched  us  all.  she  asked :  "What  did  you  run  off 
for,   anyway?" 

"I  can't  tell  you."  The  girl's  sleepy  face  set 
determinedly. 

"Mf!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Mary.  "I  don't  like  mys- 
teries. I'll  give  you  until  morning;  then  you  can 
explain — or  leave!" 

"Very  well,  Miss  McGregor.  Shall  I  take  you  to 
your  room  now?" 

She  pushed  the  wheeled  chair  out,  and  Dorothy, 
still  wide-eyed,  beckoned  to  me.  "Come  along, 
Uncle  George.  Let's  get  the  shotgun.  What  do  you 
suppose  ailed   Miss  Christie?" 

I  shrugged.  "She's  from  the  mountains.  They 
still  have  feuds  out  there,  you  know,  along  the  North 
Carolina  border.  Perhaps  this  fellow  Rutledge 
comes  from  her  home,  and  she's  afraid  he'll  do  some 


A  TRAGEDY  59 

mischief  down  here.  Maybe  she'll  explain  herself  in 
the  morning,  unless  Aunt  Mary  is  too  cranky/' 

Dorothy  shivered  a  little.  "I  don't  like  mysteries, 
either,"  she  confessed.  ''And  there's  trouble  coming. 
Uncle  George;  I  can  feel  it.  Oh,  dear!  I  wish  we 
were  out  of  Fort  House  for  good!  Everything's 
going  wrong.  That  horrid  ghost,  or  whatever  it  is, 
scared  me  about  sick;  and  then  Lewis  had  to  go 
and  quarrel  with  Doctor  Gaskell,  and  now  Miss 
Christie  begins  to  act  so  queer,  and — and  everything. 
Oh,  dear!  I  wish  all  these  things  could  have  hap- 
pened to  some  other  body.  Here's  Peter's  gun. 
Uncle  George,  in  this  closet." 

I  took  it  out,  a  plain,  well-used,  double-barreled 
shotgun.  Then  I  broke  it  to  make  sure  it  was 
unloaded. 

"There's  a  box  of  shells  on  the  shelf,  I  think. 
Come  on,  let's  leave  it  out  and  go  to  bed.  Fm 
tired,  too.'* 

She  led  the  way  down  the  back  stairs.  After 
making  sure  that  both  barrels  were  unloaded  I  set 
the  gun  against  the  angle  of  the  wall  on  the  back 
porch,  just  inside  the  screen  door. 

'There!  I  told  Lewis  Fd  put  it  there.  Fll  just 
leave  the  cartridges  beside  it,  with  the  cleaning  rod 
and  rags,  so  he  can  put  the  gun  in  shape  when  he's 
through  with  it.  I  hope  he  gets  those  miserable 
quail;  they  kept  me  awake,  too." 

''Poor  Uncle  George!  He's  having  a  hard  time, 
taking  care  of  the  McGregor  family,  isn't  he?"  she 
stood  on  tiptoe  to  kiss  the  end  of  my  nose,  then  she 
ran  in.     "Fm  going  to  bed,  too,"  she  called  back. 


((■ 


IC 


60  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

But  as  I  labored  up  the  front  stairs — slowly 
enough,  for  my  joints  were  very  stiff — she  came  out 
of  Miss  McGregor's  room  to  call  after  me. 

**Uncle  George!  Auntie's  nervous  about  that  gun. 
Come  in  and  tell  her  where  you  left  it." 

I  turned  back.  "On  the  back  porch,  Miss  Mc- 
Gregor, inside  the  screen  door." 

Ts  it  loaded?"  querulously  she  asked. 
'No,  ma'am.      I  set  the  box  of  shells  beside  it, 
ready." 

*'Like  as  not  we'll  all  be  murdered  in  our  beds, 
but  I'd  run  that  chance  even  to  get  rid  of  those 
quail.     Good  night!" 

''Good  night!"  I  resumed  my  interrupted  climb. 

If  the  Poltergeist  paid  us  a  visit  that  night  I  did 
not  know  it.  I  could  scarcely  keep  my  eyes  open 
long  enough  to  undress.  I  was  tired  out,  and  the 
bed  felt  grateful  enough.  I  slept  sound  and  dream- 
lessly,  which  is  rather  unusual  for  me,  until  about 
half  past  three.  Then  I  half  woke,  to  hear  the 
matutinal  song — screech,  rather — of  those  pestiferous 
quail.  I  grinned  sleepily,  wondering  if  Aunt  Mary 
had  been  awakened,  too;  wondering  how  soon  Lewis 
w^ould  be  along,  and  whether  he  would  bag  them. 

Then  I  dropped  off  again,  to  dream  that  Lewis  was 
stalking  a  covey  of  sitting  quail  in  my  bedroom. 
They  perched  on  the  footboard;  I  struggled  hope- 
lessly, as  one  does  in  dreams,  to  cry  out,  to  warn 
him  that  I  was  in  his  line  of  fire.  I  could  not  make 
a  sound.  Presently  he  raised  his  gun,  and  I  saw 
that  it  was  a  cannon,  a  field  piece,  with  a  muzzle 
as  big  around  as  my  head.     He  pulled  the  trigger 


A  TRAGEDY  6i 

— the  thins:  went  oft  with  a  most  horrible  racket  and 
blew  the  whole  house  apart.  I  seemed  to  be  saihng 
straight  up  into  the  air,  with  Lafe  Rutledge  beside 
me,  his  great  white  beard  fluttering.  'There'll  be 
no  wedding  now,"  I  told  him.  Then  Aunt  Mary 
IMcGregor  came  along,  w^earing  roller  skates,  and 
explained  that  she  could  get  around  better  that 
way  than  in  the  wheel  chair,  and  so  she  had  given 
the  latter  to  Dorothy.  And  Rosina  appeared,  eyes 
rolling  as  if  on  swivels,  and  said :  ''Come  a-runnin' ! 
Late's  eloped  with  }^Iiss  Dor'thy!" 

Just  then  I  woke  up,  laughing  aloud  at  the  ab- 
surdity of  it  all.  It  was  broad  daylight;  my  watch 
said  five  o'clock.  The  quail  still  whistled  persistently. 
I  got  up  and  went  to  the  window,  wondering  if 
Lewis  had  come  yet;  this  would  be  a  fine  time  to 
flush  those  birds.  I  w^as  almost  tempted,  in  spite 
of  my  rheumatic  joints,  to  slip  dow^n  myself. 

The  early  sun  struck  through  the  tall  pines  and 
showed  a  moving  figure  among  them.  Lewis  was 
prompt  evidently.  He  stepped  out  from  the  little 
grove  into  the  scrub-oak  tangle  behind  it,  gun  at 
the  ready.     Then  he  seemed  to  stumble. 

The  shotgun  came  halfway  to  his  shoulder,  as  i£ 
for  a  snapshot,  steadied,  its  barrel  pointing  straight 
ahead — and  flamed !  The  heavy  roar  of  black  powder 
reached  my  ears  on  the  heels  of  the  flash. 
"Good  boy!"  I  cried  aloud.  "Get  him?" 
Lewis  took  one  step  forward,  then  staggered  back, 
dropping  his  gun;  both  hands  went  to  his  face.  It 
was  too  far  to  see  what  had  happened;  too  far  even 


62  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

to  shout  a  query  from  the  open  window.  I  turned 
away,  my  heart  throbbing,  to  hunt  for  my  clothes. 

Then  a  stentorian  shout  brought  me  back,  gasp- 
ing, gripped  by  a  premonition  of  evil.  Surely  the 
boy  could  not  have  shot  himiself!  The  muzzle  of 
the  gun  had  pointed  well  away  from  him. 

"Hey,  there!"  roared  the  same  minatory  voice, 
now  closer.  *'What  you-all  up  to?  Lay  off  o'  that 
there  shootin'  in  th'   corporation!" 

A  huge  figure  threaded  its  way  through  the  pines, 
following  the  path  that  led  from  one  street  to  the 
other,  a  favorite  short  cut  for  pedestrians.  It  was 
our  constable,  Rufe  Wakefield,  a  tremendous  man, 
whose  apparent  ferocity  cloaked  a  rather  timorous 
heart,  so  folk  whispered. 

He  repeated  his  challenge,  and  now  he  was  through 
the  grove  and  beside  Lewis. 

''What  you  up  to?"  he  demanded,  and  his  leonine 
roar  seemed  louder  than  the  recent  shot. 

Then  he  leaped  back,  both  hands  thrown  up; 
presently  he  came  forward  again  and  picked  up  my 
nephew's  fallen  gun.  They  talked  together;  Wake- 
field was  accusing,  Lewis  apparently  protesting;  both 
were  much  agitated.  At  last  they  turned  and  came 
slowly  back  toward  the  house. 

I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  leaned  far  out  of  the 
window.  "Say!"  I  shouted,  at  the  pitch  of  my 
lungs.     "Hello,  down  there!     What's  wrong?" 

Wakefield  looked  up.  "Murder's  wrong!"  he 
called  excitedly.  "This  feller's  done  shot  Doc 
Gaskell.     Killed  'im  daid!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

UNCERTAINTY 

1  STAGGERED  back.  "What,  murdered?  Doctor 
Gaskell  murdered!  What's  that  about  Lewis? 
You  wait  right  there,  Rufe,  till  I  get  dressed." 

Without  waiting  to  see  whether  he  would  obey, 
I  turned  from  the  window  and  groped  excitedly  for 
my  trousers.  From  the  look  of  him,  I  fancied  that 
the  constable  would  be  glad  of  some  guidance,  even 
from  me;  he  seemed  as  flustered  and  at  sea  as  poor 
Lewis   himself. 

I  dragged  on  my  trousers  over  my  pajamas,  thrust 
bare  feet  into  a  pair  of  slippers,  and  hurried  out  into 
the  hall,  my  coat  on  my  arm. 

"Uncle  George!'' 

It  was  a  very  shaky,  frightened  little  voice. 
Dorothy,  swathed  in  a  blue  woolen  robe,  looking 
like  a  sleepy  schoolgirl,  with  her  black  hair  in  braids, 
clutched  at  my  arm. 

"Uncle  George,  what  is  it?  What's  happened? 
You  can't  go  out  like  that — you'll  catch  your  death!" 

I  must  have  presented  an  odd  figure:  bare-ankled, 
suspenders  hanging  about  my  hips,  a  lavender 
pajama  coat  much  in  evidence.  But  I  was  too  upset 
to  laugh  at  myself. 

"Let  me  go,  child;  there's  something  wTong  out- 
side." 

I  had  some  vague  thought  of  shielding  her  but 
her  big  eyes  widened,  as  she  grew  very  white. 


64  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  ''Lewis!  Lewis  is  hurt — 
Lewis  is  killed,  and  you're  afraid  to  tell  me!" 

"No,  no!  It's  Gaskell — Doctor  Gaskell's  been  hurt. 
I  don't  know  what  has  happened,  but  I'm  going  to 
find  out.  Let  me  go,  child.  Lewis  is  all  right,  I 
tell  you.  Look  out  of  the  window,  and  you  can  see 
him." 

Then  I  broke  away,  to  limp  and  stumble  down 
the  stairs  at  top  speed,  hoping  I  had  pacified  her; 
hoping  she  might  go  back  to  bed;  hoping  I  could 
settle  this  thing,  get  Wakefield  away  from  the  win- 
dow before  Dorothy  could  hear  that  her  fiance  was 
accused  of  murder. 

I  plunged  out  of  the  door  and  raced  around  to  the 
east  side  of  the  house.  Here  I  found  Lewis  and 
the  constable,  side  by  side,  staring  silently  at  nothing. 
They  turned  to  me  helplessly. 

"Well!"  I  began  impatiently.  "What  is  it? 
What's  happened?  Don't  stand  there  staring  like 
dummies — tell  me!" 

Their  befuddlement  angered  me;  though,  indeed, 
what  with  excitement,  rheumatic  twinges,  and  the 
breathless  hurry  of  my  coming,  I  fear  I  was  in  little 
better  case  myself. 

My  nephew  sighed  heavily,  as  if  awakened  from 
an  evil  dream.     "Come  along,  unk,"  he  invited. 

"Yeah,"  said  the  gigantic  constable,  "c'm'  on,  an' 
see  what  he  done!" 

I  followed  them  along  the  little  winding  path, 
through  the  pines  and  into  the  tangle  of  scrub  oaks; 
there  I  stopped,  gasping.  Before  me,  supine,  inert, 
lay  the  body  of  Doctor  Gaskell.    His  face  was  deadly 


UNCERTAINTY  65 

white,  his  features  sharpened  curiously.  He  was 
fully  dressed,  and  one  hand  still  clutched  a  small 
black  bag.  He  lay  on  his  back  among  the  thick 
bushes,  his  feet  still  in  the  little  path.  In  the  very 
center  of  his  body,  just  above  the  belt,  was  a  horrid, 
gaping  wound,  about  which  his  white  shirt  was  all 
tattered  and  stained. 

Needlessly  I  knelt  and  put  my  hand  over  his  heart. 
It  was  quite  still;  and  his  skin  was  cold  already.  I 
rose  stiffly. 

*'Good  heavens,"  I  said.     **Lewis " 

"Yeah,  Lewis!  I  sh'd  think  so,"  declared  the 
constable.  ''George,  ain't  this  terrible?"  He  gripped 
the  boy's  shoulder.     "What'd  ye  do  it  f'r,  huh?" 

Lewis  shook  off  his  hand.  "I — I  didn't,"  he  said 
thickly.  His  lips  were  stiff,  and  his  tongue  seemed 
unmanageable.  'T  didn't — or,  anyway,  I  didn't 
know."  He  groaned  aloud.  ''I  don't  know  what 
happened.  I  thought  I  saw  a  quail,  and  I  cocked 
the  gun  and  started  to  raise  it,  and  then  I  stumbled, 
and  it  went  off.  He  must  have  been  coming  through 
the  bushes;  I  never  saw  him,  or  heard  him — or  any- 
thing. He  never  made  a  sound!  I  supposed  I  was 
all  alone  out  here  until  I  heard  Rufe  yell;  then  I 
jumped  and  looked  round,  and  there  he  was — dead  I 
You  believe  me,  don't  you,  unk?" 

"Huh?"  asked  Wakefield.  "Sounds  kinda  fishy 
t'  me."  He  pointed  down  at  the  body  accusingly. 
"Hit  plumb  center,"  he  pronounced.  "With  a  shot- 
gun, too;  anybody  c'd  see  that.  An'  right  close  up! 
See  th'  powder  marks?     Musta  seed  him!" 

"He  didn't,  either!"  I  put  in.     "I  was  watching 


66  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

from  that  window  up  there;  I  saw  Lewis  raise  his 
gun  and  trip,  just  like  he  said.  Gaskell  wasn't  in 
sight,  or  anybody  else!" 

"Huh!"  asked  the  constable  again.  "We-ell,  it's 
kinda  queer,  anyways;  'specially  after  th'  way  Doc 
Parker  here  was  talkin'  in  to  Olsen's  yestiddy. 
Yeah" — as  I  shrunk  from  the  memory  of  the  boy's 
careless  threats — ''I  was  there  and  heerd  'im  m'self, 
making  threats  agin'  Doc  Gaskell.  I  reckon  you'll 
have  a  right  smart  o'  explainin'  t'  do,  Parker!" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "don't  let's  argue  about  it  now. 
We'll  have  to  look  after  the  body,  and — whatever  it 
is  they  do  when  anybody's  found  dead  this  way." 

I  looked  questioningly  at  the  constable,  and  he 
stared  blankly  back.  The  habitual  fierceness  of  his 
huge  face  was  marred  somewhat  by  a  shifting,  un- 
certain eye.  He  fingered  his  chin  irresolutely,  and 
gazed  about  as  for  inspiration. 

I  scratched  my  head.  Plainly  there  was  no  help 
in  him.  "I  suppose,"  I  began  doubtfully,  "I  suppose 
the  coroner  ought  to  be  notified  and  the  sheriff " 


Wakefield  brightened.  Here  was  a  chance  to  shift 
unwanted  responsibiHty.  "Th'  sheriff?  Yeah!"  he 
said.     "Sure!    I'll  go  phone  'im  right  away." 

He  started  off,  then  paused  and  turned  back.  "I 
— I  s'pose  I'd  oughta  'rest  'im,  hadn't  I?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  me  as  for  advice  on  the  matter.  "I'd 
oughta  'rest  'im  an'  take  'im  to  th'  lockup  first, 
mebbe." 

For  all  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  I  had  to 
laugh.  He  was  so  ludicrously  inept,  this  huge, 
ferocious-looking  constable. 


UNCERTAINTY  67 

"Nonsense!'*  said  I.  "Lewis  won't  run  away.  I'll 
be  responsible  for  him.  We'll  come  along  while  you 
phone;  that'll  be  the  best  way.  And,  when  Redden 
comes,  you  can  turn  my  nephew  right  over  to  him." 

"We-ell.  If  you  think  that's  th'  best  way."  Then 
the  constable  started  toward  Fort  House. 

''No,  not  in  there,"  I  said.  "It  would  upset  Miss 
McGregor  terribly.  She's  an  invalid,  you  know." 
Really,  it  was  Dorothy  whom  I  wished  to  spare. 
"We'd  better  ^o  across  to  Gaskell's  house." 

That  started  a  new^  doubt  in  Mr.  Wakefield's  slow 
mind.  He  stopped  again.  "I  don't  know^  as  wx'd 
oughta  leave  th'  body  there  all  alone,"  he  declared. 
"Mebbe  we  better  go  back  an' " 

"Nonsense!"  I  exclaimed.  "We  can  go  back  and 
wait  there  as  soon  as  you've  notified  Sheriff  Redden. 
Come  along,  now!"  Then  I  dragged  him  on  by 
main   force. 

Fortunately,  Mrs.  Gaskell  w^as  away,  so  we  had 
not  to  break  the  dreadful  news  to  her.  A  frightened 
colored  maid,  just  opening  the  back  door,  for  it  was 
still  early,  showed  us  to  the  telephone,  and  Wakefixcld 
called  for  the  county  jail. 

We  claimed  Pinelands  for  the  county  seat,  but  the 
courthouse  and  jail  of  Carabas  County  w^re  not  in 
the  town.  When  the  new  buildings  were  projected 
some  ten  years  before  there  was  a  bitter  rivalry 
between  Pinelands  and  Smyrna,  five  miles  off,  for 
the  honor  of  possessing  them.  And  finally,  to  settle 
this,  the  jail  and  courthouse  were  built  upon  the 
dividing  line  of  the  two  townships,  over  two  miles 
from  either  village.     This  singular  arrangement,  of 


68  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PIXELANDS 

course,  pleased  neither  contingent.  But  there  our 
courthouse  stood,  alone  in  the  wilderness,  and  I 
know  of  one  other  similar  case  in  North  Carolina. 

The  sheriff  lived  in  the  jail,  which  made  this  a 
long-distance  call.  We  had  to  w^ait  for  ten  minutes 
or  so  to  get  a  connection. 

"Hello!"    said    Wakefield.      "Hello!      Th'    jail? 

.  .  Gimme  th'  high  sheriff.  Huh?  . 
This  here's  Rufe  Wakefield,  over  to  Pinelands. 
.  .  .  Yeah,  Const'ble  Wakefield.  Hello,  sheriff? 
.  .  .  They's  been  a  killin'  here — Doc  Gaskell's 
done  been  shot.  .  .  .  Huh?  .  .  .  Yeah,  I 
got  th'  feller  did  it.  .  .  .  Huh?  .  .  .  Bring 
'im  out  there?  Nossir!  I  ain't  got  no  authority 
outside  th'  corporation,  an',  anyways,  I  ain't  a-goin' 
to.  ...  Huh?  .  .  .  Nossir!  .  .  . 
Huh  ?" 

I  pushed  him  aside;  I  could  see  that  he  was  get- 
ting nowhere.  "Hello!  Sheriff?  .  .  .  George 
Uhlman  speaking.  .  .  .  Yes,  Doctor  Parker's 
uncle.  We  just  found  Doctor  Gaskell  out  here  in 
the  bushes,  near  his  house,  dead.  He'd  been  killed 
with  a  shotgun.  We  don't  know  how  it  happened; 
looks  like  an  accident.  Wakefield  thinks  my  nephew 
did  it,  but  I  don't!  Anyway,  it's  not  clear,  and  it 
needs  investigation.  There's  nobody  here  fit  to  take 
charge.     Will  you  come  right  over,  please?" 

"W'y    sure!"    came    the    sheriff's    high,    whining' 
falsetto.      "I    s'posed    f'om    Rufe    it    wa'n't   nothin', 
on'y  just  a  plain  kilHn'.     Be  over  directly.     You  sent 
f'r  th'  coroner?" 

'No;  wx  just  found  the  body." 


(f 


UNCERTAINTY  69 

"Aw  right!  I'll  git  Doc  Burgess  f'om  Smyrna  an' 
carry  him  over  there.  Git  started  soon  as  I  c'n 
git  my  clothes  on."  His  shrill  voice  took  on  an  in- 
jured note.  ''Wisht  you-all'd  have  y'r  kiUin's  later 
in  the  day!" 

We  went  out  into  the  fresh,  bright  morning,  and 
walked  toward  the  pine  grove.  Even  now  Pinelands 
was  scarcely  awake.  Thin  curls  of  smoke  began 
lazily  to  mount  from  a  chimney  here  and  there;  a 
colored  servant  or  two  hurried  up  the  street,  fresh 
from  Jimtown,  across  the  creek.  In  an  hour  they 
would  be  serving  breakfast;  the  orderly  life  of  Pine- 
lands  would  begin  behind  those  white  colonnaded 
house  fronts,  which  were  now  so  still.  It  came  to 
me  as  a  shock,  that  peaceful  life  should  be  going 
on  all  about,  when  I  seemed  caught  into  the  whirl 
of  another  world  altogether — a  fantastic,  unreal 
world  of  sudden  death  and  police  officers  and  all  the 
sordid  routine  of  criminal  investigation.  Perhaps  I 
felt  the  whole  affair  as  deeply  as  Lewis  did.  I  was 
fond  of  my  nephew. 

We  passed  under  Aunt  Mary's  window,  and  I 
could  hear  Miss  Christie's  undisturbed  snoring. 
There  was  no  sound  from  Miss  McGregor  herself, 
although  the  quail  still  whistled  piercingly.  I  won- 
dered if  she  could  really  be  asleep — if,  perhaps,  the 
bobwhites  disturbed  her  less  than  she  fancied.  Surely, 
with  the  shouting  which  had  followed  that  fateful 
explosion  of  Peter  ^McGregor's  shotgun,  even  a  sound 
sleeper  might  well  have  been  awakened. 

But  one,  at  least,  in  Fort  House,  was  stirring. 
As  we  passed  the  corner  of  the  old  place  Dorothy 


70  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

ran  out,  breathless,  hastily  dressed,  but  distractingly 
pretty.  Her  thick  braids  were  coiled  carelessly  on 
her  head;  as  she  came  toward  us  she  thrust  a  hair- 
pin home. 

"Oh,  Lewis!  What  is  it,  boy?  What's  hap- 
pened?    I  just  know  it's  something  terrible!" 

''There,  there,  honey!"  With  a  vast  effort  the 
boy  shook  himself  into  a  semblance  of  calm,  and 
put  an  arm  about  her  protectingly.  *'It's  nothing! 
There's  been  an  accident,  and  Doctor  Gaskell  is 
hurt." 

''Hurt?"  She  drew  away  from  him  a  little,  look- 
ing deep  into  his  eyes.  "Oh,  boy,  boy !  You  didn't 
quarrel  with  him  again?" 

"No.  I — I  didn't  know  he  was  there,  dear.  I 
never  saw  or  heard  a  thing.  And  the  gun  went 
off,  and " 

"Did  you  hit  him?  Is  he  hurt  badly?  Where 
is  he?     Can't  I  help?" 

Nobody  can  help  him  now,"  I  told  her  gravely. 
The  only  way  you  can  help  is  to  go  back  in  the 
house  and  try  to  keep  this  from  Aunt  Mary  as  long 
as  you  can.  No!"  I  caught  her  sharply  back,  as 
she  would  have  run  down  the  path.  "You  can't  do 
anything  there;  you  must  keep  away." 

She  stared  at  me  in  agony.  "You — you  mean  he's 
dead?"  She  seemed  unable  to  understand;  her  face 
was  quite  blank.  Indeed,  all  of  us  seemed  helplessly 
confused  that  fateful  morning.  I  look  back  now  and 
see  how  we  might  have  risen  to  the  occa- 
sion, how  we  might  have  handled  the  situation 
efficiently;   but   then    we    all   seemed   bound    by    the 


(I 


UNCERTAINTY  71 

same  nightmare,  gripped  by  that  terrible  helpless- 
ness of  dreams,  so  that  we  could  only  stare  and  gape. 
After  all,  it  was  no  wonder!  Doctor  WilHam  Gaskell 
had  been  killed  in  a  very  sudden  and  dreadful 
fashion — and  my  nephew,  Lewis  Parker,  was  sup- 
posed to  have  killed  him,  however  unintentionally. 
And  we  loved  the  boy. 

"We-ell,"  said  Dorothy  uncertainly,  'T'll  try  and 
be  good.    You  come  with  me,  Lewis,  please." 

"I — Fm  needed  here,"  he  began,  but  Constable 
Wakefield's  stentorian  voice  drowned  his  evasion. 

"He's  gotta  stay  right  with  me,  ma'am,"  he  de- 
clared. "He's  under  arrest,  he  is,  f'r  murder!" 
He  inflated  his  huge  chest  importantly,  then  shrank 
suddenly  back,  fumbling  at  his  hip,  as  my  nephew 
turned  upon  him.     "Here,  here !    None  o'  that,  now !" 

"You  fool!"  said  the  boy.  "I've  a  good  mind  to 
break   your   head — blurting   out   that   way." 

"Quit,  quit!"  The  constable  tried  to  hide  his  vast 
bulk  behind  me,  and  his  voice  shook.  Here  was  a 
desperate  criminal,  a  red-handed  murderer,  threaten- 
ing him!  I  read  the  thought  in  the  sickly  face  of 
him.  "You-all  make  him  quit!  Resistin'  a  officer's 
serious,   Parker!" 

Lewis  had  forgotten  him  already.  His  eyes  were 
all  for  Dorothy.  "It — it  was  an  accident!"  he 
declared  piteously.  "Dorothy — honey — you  believe 
me,  don't  you?  I  never  even  saw  him;  I  supposed 
he  was  home  in  bed.  Oh,  honey,  you  don't  think 
I  really  meant  to  shoot  him?" 

The  girl's  eyes  shone,  and  she  brushed  the  thought 
away  wdth  a  magnificent  gesture.     "Of  course  not! 


^2  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

But,  Lewis,  boy,  arrested!  W-will  they  put  you  in 
j-jail,  dearest?  They  won't  keep  you  there,  will 
they?     Why,  our  wedding's  only  two  days  off!" 

''Come,  dear,"  I  urged.  "Run  in,  now.  See, 
people  are  coming  already.  It's  only  a  formality" 
— how^  I  hoped  it  was  not  a  lie — ''just  a  form.  He'll 
be  out  again  and  back  in  time  for  dinner.  You  go 
look  after  Aunt  Mary  and  be  brave." 

She  turned  away  obediently,  her  slender  shoulders 
shaking  with  sobs;  then  she  came  back  to  kiss  the 
boy,  and  fled.  I  sighed  with  relief  as  she  vanished 
into  the  house.  "Come  on,  Wakefield,  let's  get  it 
over,"  I  suggested. 

Already  the  news  had  spread.  Perhaps  it  had 
been  the  telephone  operator,  perhaps  the  mysterious 
wireless  of  small-town  gossip.  Anyhow  men  and 
boys  had  begun  to  collect,  to  hang  in  whispering 
groups  along  the  road.  A  few  bolder  spirits  ad- 
vanced, full  of  questions,  and  followed  us  back  along 
the  path  to  where  Gaskell's  body  still  lay. 

"How  come?"  asked  one  man  of  the  constable, 
who  stood  beside  Lewis,  still  rubbing  his  chin  with 
unsteady  fingers.  He  had  made  no  move  to  lift 
the  dead  man. 

"How  come?  Doc  Parker,  here,  done  it  with 
his  shotgun  just  now.     I  as  good  as  seen  him!" 

The  constable's  statement  was  relayed  from  one 
whispering  group  to  another.  The  crowd  gathered, 
came  closer,  jostling  and  shoving  through  the  scrub 
for  a  better  look.  A  little  murmur  started  some- 
where and  grew  into  a  menacing  growl:  "Killed  Doc 
Gaskell!    Shot  'im  down  deliberate!     Dirty  coward!" 


UNCERTAINTY  73 

A  high,  excited  voice  from  the  rear  shouted:  "He 
ought  to  be  lynched !" 

At  that  sinister  suggestion  the  crowd  began  to 
mill.  The  mutter  of  unfriendly  voices  deepened, 
grew  more  ominous.  "Git  a  rope!"  exclaimed  an- 
other. Suddenly  there  was  an  outburst  of  howls, 
shrill,  bitter,  inhuman,  like  the  baying  of  hounds. 
"Git  a  rope !    Git  a  rope !     Hang  'im — lynch  'im  1" 

Pushing  and  crowding,  they  drew  closer,  sur- 
rounding us  and  the  body,  treading  down  the  bushes, 
thrusting  aside  saplings.  I  looked  into  a  circle  of 
flushed,  ugly  faces.     The  crowd  had  become  a  mob. 

Constable  Wakefield  straightened  to  the  full  of 
his  six  feet  two,  thrust  out  his  official  chest  and 
glowered  at  them  fiercely.  "Stand  back,  boys!"  he 
ordered.     "Don't  interfere  with  th'  law!" 

His  authoritative  way  had  its  effect  for  an  instant; 
then  some  one  laughed.  "Yah,  Rufe!  'Member 
when  Ralph  Satterfield  took  y'r  star  off  of  yuh  that 
day?  Knock  his  block  off,  fellers;  take  'is  gun 
away,  if  he  starts  anythin'.  He  ain't  got  the  nerve 
to  shoot."  Wakefield  had  now  produced  a  huge  and 
ancient  pistol. 

The  big  man  paled,  and  his  small  eyes  shifted 
uncertainly.  His  heavy,  bullying  voice  quavered. 
"Now,  now,  boys,"  he  said,  suddenly  pacific,  "don't 
do  nothin'  you'll  be  sorry  for." 

"Gr-r-r-r!"  The  crowd  swayed  forward.  Lewis, 
very  white,  clenched  his  fists  and  crouched,  pre- 
pared to  sell  his  life  dearly.  I  stood  in  front  of 
him;  I  would  come  to  grips  with  Nate  Buford  who 
was  nearest  me;  I  could  hold  him  back  for  a  miin- 


74  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

ute,  at  least.  And,  even  in  that  breathless  moment, 
I  had  to  grin  to  myself  to  think  of  pitting  my  puny, 
rheumatic  sixty-odd  years  against  the  wrath  of  a 
mob. 

Presently  the  crowd  began  to  waver.  ''Beat  it!" 
shouted  some  one  from  the  rear.  Those  nearest 
us  shifted,  looked  over  shoulders,  then  stepped  back, 
each  trying  to  hide  behind  his  fellows  and  look 
like  an  innocent  bystander.  A  wide  lane  opened,  and 
along  it  a  shrunken,  undistinguished  figure  advanced 
toward  us.  It  was  a  little  old  man,  stooped  and 
bent,  whose  rheumy,  red-rimmed  eyes  peered  mildly 
from  beneath  a  wide,  flapping  hat  brim;  his  lean, 
leathery  face,  seamed  by  a  thousand  wrinkles,  was 
made  ludicrous  by  the  merest  wisp  of  straggling 
white  mustache;  the  gnarled,  calloused  hands  swung 
empty  at  his  sides.  It  was  High  Sheriff  Redden,  and 
glad  I  was  to  see  him. 

He  came  on  through  the  shrinking,  melting  crowd 
and  stood  with  us,  peering  down  at  Doctor  Gaskell's 
quiet  body.     "H'm,"  said  he.     "Daid,  ain't  he?" 

He  spoke  in  a  quavering,  cracked  falsetto.  Then 
he  turned  and  ran  a  mild,  watery  eye  over  the 
throng,  stroking  his  ridiculous,  wispy  mustache  the 
while.  ''Seems  like  I  heerd  some  racketin'  round 
here,"  he  went  on  in  that  grotesque,  squeaky  whine. 
"You-all  c'n  go  home  now.     Git!     Scatter!" 

His  bent,  shrunken  form  contrasted  absurdly 
with  the  constable's  massiveness;  his  voice,  to  the 
constable's  roar,  was  a  penny  whistle  to  a  pipe  organ. 
His  rheumy  eyes  were  mild,  almost  timid ;  his  gnarled 
hands  were  empty. 


UNCERTAINTY  75 

But  none  withstood  him.  The  crowd  melted  fast, 
each  man  looking,  'or  trying  to  look,  as  if  he'd  just 
stopped  for  a  minute  and  was  ready  to  go,  any- 
way. Presently  Lewis  and  I  stood  alone  with  the 
constable,  the  sheriff,  and  the  dead  man. 

I  conceived  a  sincere  respect  for  High  Sheriff 
Redden. 


CHAPTER  VII 

INVESTIGATION 

SHERIFF  REDDEN,  at  least,  seemed  quite  un- 
touched by  the  paralysis  of  thought  which  held 
us  all.  He  cleared  his  throat  briskly,  ran  a  watery 
eye  over  our  blank  visages,  and  stooped  over  the 
dead  man. 

"H'm,"  said  he.  "Plumb  center — with  a  shotgun, 
held  clost  enough  to  scorch  his  shirt  some.  Who 
found  him?" 

A  quail,  whistled  sharply,  as  if  in  mockery,  and 
its  shrill  note  struck  exactly  the  key  of  the  high 
sheriff's  squeaky  voice.  It  was  ridiculous  enough, 
yet  none  of  us  seemed  moved  to  laugh.  Indeed,  I 
valued  the  sheriff's  intelligence  the  higher,  that  he 
asked:  "Who  found  him?"  instead  of  "Who  did  it?" 

"I  found  him !''  answered  Lewis  and  the  constable, 

almost  together.      "That   is "   and  both   stopped 

short. 

"You  first,"  ordered  the  sheriff,  flipping  a  calloused 
palm  at  my  nephew.  And  he  listened  attentively, 
his  wizen,  wrinkled  face  inscrutable,  while  the  boy 
told  his  faltering  tale. 

"I  was  coming  down  the  path,  and  I  thought  I 
saw  a  quail  on  that  limb,  right  there.  I  cocked  the 
gun  and  started  to  raise  it;  and  then  I  tripped,  and 
it  went  off.  But  I  didn't  see  a  soul  or  hear  a 
sound;  I  swear  I  didn't!" 


INVESTIGATION  jy 

''H'm,"  said  Sheriff  Redden,  blinking  his  little, 
red-rimmed  eyes.  "H'm !  What  was  you  doin'  out 
here  with  a  gun,  right  in  th'  village?" 

''It  was  the  quail,"  said  Lewis.  He  seemed  dazed, 
incapable  of  thought.  He  began  to  repeat  his  story: 
'T  was  coming  down  the  path " 

''The  birds  annoyed  Miss  McGregor  so  much  she 
couldn't  sleep.  She's  an  invalid,  you  know."  And 
I  told  him  of  Aunt  Mary's  complaints  and  my 
nephew's  promise. 

"H'm,"  repeated  the  sheriff.  "So  you  come  out  t' 
kill  off  them  pa'tridge?  H'm!  Didn't  look  t'  see 
Doc  Gaskell  out  here?  What  was  th'  doc  doin'  in 
^McGregors'  back  yard  that  time  o'  mornin',  yuh 
s'pose?" 

"Somebody  sick,  probably."  I  answered.  "He  had 
his  medicine  case,  you  see.'' 

The  sheriff  blinked  down  at  the  black  bag,  which 
Gaskell's  dead  hand  still  gripped.  "H'm!  Like 
enough.  We  c'n  see  after  that  later.  Hey, 
Burgess !" 

He  turned  toward  the  street,  whence  came  a 
reply  to  his  shrill  summons.  A  battered  roadster 
stood  in  front  of  Fort  House,  and  a  stout,  middle- 
aged  man,  bearded  thickly,  was  just  climbing  out  of 
it.     He  held  a  stout  satchel. 

Doc  Burgess,  th'  coroner,"  explained  the  sheriff. 
Better  let  him  have  a  look  fust;  then  we  c'n  take 
th'  body  home." 

The  coroner  came  toward  us  briskly,  with  a  fat 
man's  rolling  gait.  He  set  down  his  bag  and  knelt 
beside  the  dead  man,  grunting. 


78  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

His  examination  took  but  a  moment.  "Stone 
dead,"  he  announced,  and  his  thick  beard  moved  to 
the  words.  ''Never  knew  what  hit  him.  ^Must  have 
dropped  where  he  stood.  All  right,  you  can  move 
him  now,  sheriff.  I'd  better  have  a  complete  autopsy- 
done,  I  suppose,  though  I'd  be  ready  to  swear  to 
the  cause  of  death  right  now." 

"H'm!     How  long's  he  bin  daid,  you  reckon?" 

Doctor  Burgess  touched  the  dead  man's  breast, 
moved  an  arm  tentatively.  "We-ell,  two  hours,  any- 
how— maybe  longer.     Can't  say  exactly." 

The  sheriff  looked  at  his  watch.  "Seven-fifteen. 
You  was  out  here  at  five,  Parker?" 

I  nodded.  "I'd  looked  at  my  watch  just  a  minute 
before  I  saw  him  shoot." 

"Saw  him  shoot?"  the  sheriff  repeated.  "Where 
w^as  you?" 

"Up  at  that  window,   looking  out." 

"H'm!     You  see  Doc  Gaskell?" 

"No.  There  wasn't  a  soul  in  sight.  The  bushes 
didn't  move  even." 

"H'm,"  repeated  the  sheriff.    "Well,  let's  git  goin'." 

He  beckoned  to  a  lounger,  who  had  retreated 
only  to  the  street,  and  presently  a  couple  of  boards 
were  found.  Constable  and  coroner  lifted  the  dead 
man  gently,  and  four  volunteers  carried  him  away 
toward  his  own  house.  The  bright  sun  shone  down 
as  cheerily  as  if  all  had  been  well  in  Pinelands;  and 
the  quail  whistled  "hohzMte!  hohzi'hite!"  without 
faltering  upon  a  single  note.  To  my  disturbed  mind, 
they  seemed  to  jeer  at  us,  to  rejoice  in  this  tragedy 
which  they  had  caused. 


INVESTIGATION  79 

*'Rufe,  you  go  over  an'  stay  with  th'  body,"  said 
the  sheriff.  "Keep  all  them  folks  away.  I  gotta 
git  word  t'  Mis'  Gaskell,  an'  find  out  where  the 
doc  was  goin',  an' " 

"He  was  coming  to  my  place,  sheriff."  It  was 
Olsen,  the  druggist,  who  spoke.  He  had  joined  the 
ragged  fringe  of  curious  ones  who  still  hung  about, 
but  at  a  respectful  distance.  "My  little  girl  woke 
up  with  awful  pains  in  her  stomach,  and  we  phoned 
after  the  doctor.  Say,  Redden,  isn't  this  a  dreadful 
thing!" 

"H'm,"  said  the  sheriff.  "Somebody  oughta  let 
Mis'  Gaskell  know  about  it.  Whereabouts  is  she, 
Olsen?     Do  you  know?" 

"Why,  yes;  she  went  to  Jackson  Springs  for  a 
few  days  with  the  Ruggleses.  I'll  take  care  of  that, 
sheriff;  I'll  send  for  Mrs.  Gaskell,  and  the  lodge  will 
make  arrangements  for  the  funeral  and  all." 

"All  right,  you-all  c'n  see  to  that  end  of  it.  An* 
now" — the  sheriff  turned  a  quizzical,  blinking  eye 
upon  me — "th'  next  mos'  important  thing  seems  t' 
be,  when  do  we  eat?" 

The  old  gentleman  was  bearing  himself  with  ex- 
traordinary courtesy  and  kindliness,  I  thought.  He 
kept  a  keen,  faded  eye  upon  Lewis,  of  course;  he 
saw  to  it  that  the  boy  did  not  w^ander  far  from  his 
side,  but  he  had  not  so  much  as  mentioned  that  he 
was  under  arrest. 

"Come  over  to  our  house,'*  I  invited.  "I  expect 
Rosina  can  scrape  us  up  something." 

We  were  standing  by  the  corner  of  the  Fort  House 


8o  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

porch;  and  now  a  sweet,  tremulous  voice  from  above 
cut  across  my  words. 

*'0f  course  not!  You  come  right  in  here,  Uncle 
George,  and  bring  Lewis  and  these — these  gentlemen 
— both  of  them.     Breakfast  is  waiting  for  you." 

We  started,  and  I  looked  up.  Dorothy  McGregor 
leaned  over  the  porch  rail,  smiling  down  at  us 
bravely,  if  tearfully — a  vision  of  loveliness.  The  old 
sheriff  swept  off  his  broad-brimmed  hat  and  bowed 
with  old-fashioned  courtesy;  the  coroner  bowed  also, 
a  pleased  smile  upon  his  grave,  bearded  face. 

"I  thank  you,  ma'am.  Sorry  to  intrude  on  you- 
all,  but  I  reckon  we  better  accept  yo'r  kind  invitation. 
Yuh  see,  ah — circumstances  is  such — well,  I  gotta 
stay  with  Doctor  Parker,  ma'am,  f'r  th'  present,  or 
I  wouldn't  butt  in  on  you-all  this  a  way." 

He  stammered,  w^iping  his  leathery  old  face  in 
sincere  embarrassment.  Though  they  had  never 
met,  the  sheriff  knew  Dorothy,  as  did  every  one  else 
in  town.  He  knew  that  she  was  about  to  be  mar- 
ried to  my  nephew,  and  he  dreaded  to  tell  her  that 
the  boy  was  under  arrest. 

But  he  need  not  have  been  troubled.  Dorothy  met 
him  at  the  steps,  still  smiling  courageously,  despite 
trembling  lips,  and  gave  him  a  cordial  hand.  "Mr. 
Redden,  isn't  it?  Of  course  I  know  who  you  are, 
sheriff,  and  I  understand  that  you've  had  to  arrest 
Lewis.  But  it's  only  for  a  day  or  so,  isn't  it?"  she 
asked.  "Just  until  he's  cleared,  or  whatever  you 
call  it?  And  it's  just  sweet  of  you,  sheriff,  to  let 
him  come  in  for  a  little  while  before  he — g-goes." 

"H'ml    Yessum,  jus'  f'r  a  little  while,  o*  course. 


INVESTIGATION  8i 

I — I — this  is  Doc  Burgess,  Miss  Dorothy,  a — a 
friend  o'  mine." 

"How  do  you  do,  doctor?  Now  come  in,  every- 
body. The  waffles  will  be  ready,  and  it  makes  Rosina 
awfully  mad  if  they  have  to  stand  a  minute." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  dining  room,  still  chatter- 
ing bravely,  but  I  saw  how  her  hand  trembled  upon 
Lewis'   arm. 

Dorothy  seated  us  all  about  the  big,  round  table, 
and  breakfast  was  ser\'ed  at  once.  Conversation 
languished,  as  one  might  have  expected;  but  the 
officers  paid  enough  attention  to  Rosina's  cooking  to 
balance  the  scant  appetites  of  the  family. 

''Where's  Aunt  Mary?"  I  whispered  to  the  girl 
beside  me,  I  wondered  how  the  old  lady  would 
react  to  this  rude  upsetting  of  the  routine  of  life 
at  Fort  House. 

'Tn  her  room,"  Dorothy  answered.  She  made  no 
pretense  of  eating,  but  sat  close  to  Lewis,  holding 
his  hand  openly  and  proudly,  murmuring  comfort 
to  him.  "She  hasn't  come  out  at  all;  I  don't  believe 
she  knows  anything  about — this." 

While  Dorothy  was  speaking,  the  portieres  were 
pushed  back,  and  Aunt  Mary  McGregor  appeared, 
bolt  upright  in  her  wheel  chair,  propelled,  as  usual, 
by  her  yawning  nurse.     Our  unwelcome  guests  rose. 

The  old  lady's  thin,  arched  eyebrows  rose  higher 
than  ever.  She  blinked  her  eyes  very  fast,  an  un- 
failing sign  of  irritation,  as  I  was  beginning  to  learn. 
Good  morning!"  she  said  very  coldly  indeed. 
And  who  are  these — ah — gentlemen,  Dorothy?" 

Flushed    and    embarrassed,    Dorothy    rose    also. 


^2  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 


"Why — why,  aunty,  these  are  friends  of  Lewis. 
This  is  Sheriff  Redden;  my  aunt,  Miss  McGregor, 
Mr.  Redden.     And  Doctor " 

"Indeed!'*  Aunt  Mary's  frosty  voice  cut  her  off. 
The  old  lady's  eyebrows  rose  higher  yet,  if  that 
were  possible,  and  she  winked  fast,  passing  a  hand 
across  her  eyes  in  a  curious,  uncertain  gesture  which 
was  not  like  her.  "A  policeman,  here!  And  why, 
may  I  ask?'* 

"Just — just  a  little  matter  of  business,  ma'am," 
replied  the  sheriff,  very  red  and  uneasy.  "With — 
with  Doctor  Parker,  here." 

"Mf!"  said  Aunt  Mary.  "How  amusing!"  But 
I  fancied  that  her  manner  was  less  glacial.  "And 
this  other  gentleman?" 

"Doctor  Burgess,  of  Smyrna,"  explained  Dorothy 
miserably. 

"Ah,  yes;  Doctor  Burgess,  of  course.  And  to 
what  do  we  owe  this  unexpected — pleasure?" 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  saccharine  insolence 
of  Aunt  Mary's  tone.  Her  smile  was  as  saintly  as 
ever,  her  courtesy  impeccable,  while  her  face  wore 
its  accustomed  look  of  patient  suft'ering.  And  yet 
with  a  look,  with  a  drawled  word,  with  a  tiny  pause 
before  "pleasure,"  she  contrived  to  make  us  all  feel 
exquisitely  uncomfortable.  She  had  a  genius  for 
that  sort  of  thing,  I  was  beginning  to  perceive. 

"I   was   afraid   we'd    intrude   on    you-all,"    began 

Redden,    apologetically.      "I   reckon    we   better " 

He  stopped,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  Doctor 
Burgess  looked  down  his  nose,  tugging  reflectively 
at  his  heavy  beard.    Dorothy  wiped  her  eyes. 


INVESTIGATION  85 

''Doctor  Gaskell  is  dead,"  I  declared.  The  old 
lady's  calm  selfishness,  her  subtle  discourtesy,  angered 
me.  Let  her  face  the  brutal  fact,  like  the  rest  of 
us! 

''Gaskell  has  been  killed,  right  in  your  back  yard!'* 

"Indeed!"  Aunt  Mary  yawned.  "Dorothy,  where 
is  my  coffee?  I  feel  very  ill,  after  the  shock 
of  that  man's  brutal  language  yesterday.  I  need  my 
coft'ee.  But,  then,  no  one  thinks  of  me.  No  one 
cares  enough  for  my  suft'ering  eA'en  to  ask  how^  I 
am.  I  dozed  off  tow^ard  morning;  the  birds  didn't 
disturb  me,  thanks  to  Doctor  Parker" — she  nodded 
graciously  toward  Lew^is — "and  I  got  up  quite  rested. 
And  then  I'm  expected  to  meet  strangers  at  break- 
fast— which  always  upsets  me — and  on  top  of  that 
I  have  to  listen  to  such  unpleasant  news.  Dear 
me!  I  feel  the  knots  coming  in  miy  neck  already. 
No  one  has  any  consideration  for  me!" 

"Why,  you "  I  began  and  stopped.     I  had  been 

about  to  flare  out  at  the  old  lady;  her  callousness 
enraged  me  so.  Surely  this  was  beyond  even  Aunt 
Mary's  self -absorption!  But  her  w^hite-lipped,  quiv- 
ering face  checked  me.  This  time,  at  least.  Miss 
McGregor  was  really  suffering;  I  was  sure  of  that. 

Then  my  eyes  traveled  past  her  to  the  nurse,  IMiss 
Christie,  who  had  stood  silently  behind  the  wheel 
chair  all  this  time.     Then  I  jumped  up. 

"Lewis,  Doctor  Burgess!     Quick,  she's  fainting!" 

We  all  ran  toward  her,  and  just  in  time.  With  a 
faint  sigh.  Miss  Christie  collapsed  limply,  and  the 
doctor  caught  her,  as  she  fell,  and  laid  her  gently 
down. 


84  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Again  I  was  struck  by  the  unexpected  beauty  of 
her  white  face.  Ordinarily  sleepy  and  stolid,  strong 
emotion  seemed  to  vivify  her  face,  to  transfigure 
her  bovine  placidity.  Now,  lying  with  closed  eyes, 
still  and  white  as  death,  she  was  very  beautiful. 

''Upon  my  word!"  cried  Aunt  Mary.  "Every  one 
seems  to  be  in  a  conspiracy  to  upset  me  to-day. 
Dorothy,  please  take  me  to  my  room.  I  can't  eat 
a  mouthful." 

This  was  scarcely  true.  The  old  lady  had  occu- 
pied her  few  minutes  with  us  quite  profitably,  eating 
as  she  talked.  She  had  consumed  three  waffles — I 
counted  them — and  two  cups  of  coffee.  But  Dorothy 
wheeled  her  out  obediently,  while  we  men  ministered 
to  the  fainting  nurse. 

Dorothy  returned  in  a  moment,  to  kneel  beside 
me.  "What  do  you  suppose  was  the  matter?  Is 
she  sick,  Doctor  Burgess?  Poor  girl!  Let  me, 
LTncle  George." 

She  took  the  nurse's  head  upon  her  knee  and  be- 
gan to  bathe  the  broad,  white  forehead  with  cold 
water,  very  gently.  Presently  Miss  Christie  opened 
tragic,  violet  eyes  that  seemed  black  with   emotion. 

"What — what  happened  to  Doctor  Gaskell?"  she 
asked  in  a  whisper.     "Who  killed  him?" 

We  stared  at  each  other  dumbly.  It  was  Lewis 
who  answered  at  last. 

"I'm  afraid  I  did  it,"  he  told  her  quite  simply.  "It 
W'as  an  accident.  I  didn't  see  a  soul  or  hear  a  sound. 
I  was  coming  down  the  path,  and  I  thought  I  saw 
a  quail."     Here  he  repeated  his  story,  almost  word 


INVESTIGATIOxN  85 

for  word,  as  he  had  told  it  a  dozen  times  this  morn- 
ing.    He  was  still  much  shaken. 

*'0h!"  It  was  the  faintest  of  sighs,  and  I  fancied 
that  it  expressed  relief.  A  tinge  of  color  crept  into 
the  girl's  white  cheeks  as  she  covered  her  eyes  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"There,  there,  honey,"  said  Dorothy.  "What  is 
it?    What's  the  trouble?" 

Miss  Christie  sat  up  and  wiped  her  eyes.  ''N-noth- 
ing,"  she  said  sobbingly.  "Only  it  was  a  shock.  You 
see,  Doctor  Gaskell  did  so  much  for  me;  he  was  a 
wonderful  friend.  I  was  raised  in  the  mountains, 
and  I  never  had  a  chance  until  he  came.  But  he 
helped  me  to  leave  home;  he  got  me  a  place  in  the 
hospital.  He  kept  me  nursing  for  him  ever  since 
I  graduated.  Whatever  I  am,  I  owe  to  him. 
He  was  a  father  to  me — a  father!"  She  laughed 
bitterly.  "A  thousand  times  more  kind  than  the  only 
father  I  ever  knew!     That's  all.'' 

She  rose  quietly.  Suddenly  all  the  life  and  fire 
of  her  face  died  like  a  blown-out  candle.  She  had 
been  inspired;  now  she  was  commonplace  once  more, 
bovine,  placid,  almost  stupid,  expressionless.  I  won- 
dered at  the  change.  No  one  would  look  twice  at 
her  now. 

"I  must  go  and  see  to  Aliss  McGregor,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I'm  sorry  to  have  made  so  much  trouble." 
Then  she  vanished  silently. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   INQUEST 

SHERIFF  REDDEN  scratched  his  head.  'Tunny 
how  upset  she  seemed,"  he  remarked  in  his 
high,  whining  drawl.  "I  wonder,  now,  where  I've 
seen  that  girl  before?  Christie,  her  name  is? 
Christie?  H'm!  Likely,  it's  somebody  else  she 
favors.  Say,  they's  a  lot  o'  queer  things  about  this 
here  shootin',  seems  like." 

I  agreed  with  him  thoroughly,  and  one  of  them 
was  the  curious  conduct  of  Miss  McGregor's  nurse, 
both  last  night  and  just  now. 

"F'r  instance,"  pursued  the  officer  amicably,  turned 
toward  his  prisoner,  "Gaskell's  bein'  out  yonder  in 
th'  bushes.  Couldn't  of  been  in  th'  path,  or  you'd 
of  seen  him."  It  seemed  the  sheriff  accepted  Lewis' 
story  as  true,   and  my  heart   warmed   to  him.      "I 

wonder,  now He  must  of  been  standin'  right 

quiet,  too,  or  ye'd  of  heard  him.  Don't  seem  nat- 
ural, quite,  he'd  of  let  yuh  git  clost  enough  t'  shoot 
'ithout  sayin'  nothin'.  Thet  gun  bar*l  must  of  been 
right  up  agin'  him,   a'most." 

''It  seems  as  if  I'd  have  seen  him  from  the  win- 
dow, too,  unless  he  was  hiding,"  I  put  in.  "Those 
bushes  aren't  high  enough  to  hide  his  head." 

Mr.  Redden  scratched  his  head  again.  "H'm! 
What  you  think,  Parker?" 

Lewis  shook  his  head  hopelessly.  His  black  hair, 
usually    sleeked    straight   back,    had    fallen    over   his 


THE  INQUEST  ,         87 

forehead.  He  tugged  absently  at  a  lock  which  hung 
down  over  his  eyes.  '*I  don't  know — I  can't  seem 
to  think  at  all." 

The  coroner  looked  up.  He  had  resumed  his  seat 
and  was  finishing  his  fourth  waffle.  "Another  pos- 
sibility," he  suggested,  with  his  mouth  full.  ''Might 
not  have  been  hiding — he  might  have  been  dead 
already." 

''H'm,"  said  the  sheriff,  blinking  at  him. 

My  nephew  brightened  wonderfully.  The  color 
crept  back  into  his  sallow  cheeks.  "Do  you  really 
think  so?" 

Dorothy  made  a  little  cooing  sound,  and  patted 
Lewis'  hand.  ''I  knew  it  would  come  out  all  right!" 
she  declared,  her  big  sea-blue  eyes  upon  the  coroner. 

Under  that  admiring  gaze,  Doctor  Burgess  ex- 
panded. ''Quite  possible,"  he  repeated.  "Can't  fix 
the  time  of  death  exactly — not  within  an  hour  or 
so.  You  realize  that.  Doctor  Parker.  If  you  saw 
nothing,  heard  nothing,  not  even  a  fall,  it  may  have 
been  because  Gaskell  had  already  fallen.  Didn't  you 
look  to  see  if  he  was  still  bleeding  or  anything?" 

Lewis  flushed.  "I — I  was  too  upset,"  he  con- 
fessed. "I  heard  the  constable  yelling,  and  I  turned. 
I  didn't  see  Gaskell  until  then,  and  it  startled  me 
so — that  and  knowing  that  Wakefield  v/ould  surely 
think  I  did  it,  and  remembering  I'd  quarreled  with 
him  yesterday,   and   seeing  him,   Gaskell,   there,   and 

all "     He   stumbled   and  broke   off.     "Why,   all 

I  could  see  was  that  Gaskell  was  dead,  and  that  I 
must  have  shot  him." 

"H'm!     Well,   we'll  have  a  chance  to  straighten 


THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

all  that  out  at  the  inquest."  Sheriff  Redden  rose  and 
bowed  to  Dorothy.  *'We  sure  are  beholden  to  you, 
ma'am,  f'r  yore  hospitality.  But  I  reckon  we  better 
be  shackin'  along  now.  Gotta  git  back  to  th'  jail. 
I — I  reckon  I'll  have  to  take  yo'r  young  man  along, 
ma'am,  jus'  f'r  to-day.  Burgess'll  be  holdin*  his  in- 
quest to-morrow;  hey,  doc?  An'  then  we  c'n  turn 
th'  boy  loose  f'r  good.  It — it's  just  a  form,  Miss 
Dorothy,  ma'am." 

Dorothy  nodded.  "You're  awfully  good,  Mr. 
Redden — you're  a  perfect  old  dear!"  And  she 
kissed  him  impulsively.  "You'll  be  real  nice  to 
Lewis,  won't  you?" 

The  old  man  beamed  at  her,  his  mahogany  face 
three  shades  darker  than  normal.  "I  sure  will, 
ma'am!  Come  along,  Burgess.  All  right,  Parker. 
It's  just  t'  be  my  guest  overnight,  suh!" 

And  so  they  departed,  leaving  Dorothy,  now  that 
she  need  no  longer  be  brave  for  her  man's  sake,  to 
weep  forlornly  on  my  shoulder. 

Then  Peter  McGregor  appeared,  carrying  his  own 
satchel.  He  was  inclined  to  be  rather  aggrieved 
that  no  one  had  met  him  at  the  station;  but  none 
of  us  had  so  much  as  h^ard  the  New  York  train 
pull  in. 

Peter  was  told  the  whole  story,  and  he  listened 
gravely,  sitting  up  very  straight,  as  was  his  habit, 
and  stroking  his  little  black  mustache.  Peter  was 
both  slight  and  short,  scarcely  taller  than  his  sister. 
But  he  carried  himself  so  erectly,  and  his  lean,  in- 
telligent face  was  so  dignified  that  he  seemed  rather 
above  than  under  the  average  size. 


THE  INQUEST  89 

Now,  when  we  had  finished  our  dismal  tale,  he 
kissed  Dorothy  and  patted  my  shoulder  as  grandly 
as  though  he  had  been  a  foot  taller  than  I,  instead 
of  six  inches  shorter. 

'T'll  see  the  old  boy  through,"  he  promised.  'T'll 
take  hold  of  things  and  get  them  straightened  out 
in  jig  time!" 

We  were  vastly  relieved,  for  Peter  was  a  capable, 
energetic  chap,  and  he  was  not  stunned  by  this 
dreadful  affair  as  we  were.  He  had  not  been  here 
to  receive  its  full,  paralyzing  shock. 

He  was  off  directly,  without  stopping  to  see  Aunt 
Mary.  *T  can't  stop  to  hear  about  the  knots  in  her 
neck  just  now,  Dot,"  he  declared.  "Ywe  other  more 
important  things  to  do." 

Before  lunch  he  was  back.  "I've  seen  the  old 
boy.  Dot,"  he  said.  "He's  pretty  blue,  but  I  hope 
I  bucked  him  up  a  bit.  And  I've  talked  with  the 
sheriff  and  Doctor  Burgess.  Inquest  will  be  here 
at  Pinelands,  in  the  town  hall,  at  ten  to-morrow. 
The  coroner's  sure  it'll  come  out  all  right;  'parties 
unknown,'  maybe,  or  purely  accidental  at  the  worst. 
He  was  awfully  decent;  neither  he  nor  the  sheriff 
believes  Lewis  knew  the  fellow  was  there.  Queer 
proceeding,  I  must  say,  for  Gaskell  to  be  pussy-foot- 
ing around  in  our  back  yard  like  that!  But  it's  all 
right;  Lewis  won't  even  need  a  lawyer.  Burgess  says. 
They'll  see  that  he's  cleared.  So  don't  worry  any 
more.  Dot!" 

Dorothy  promised  obediently;  and  I  tried  my  best 
not  to  worry  either.  But  lliat  ^vas  a  long,  long  day, 
and   it  was   very   hard   to  listen  patiently   to  Aunt 


90  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Mary's  complaints.  For  now  that  she  knew  that 
Lewis  hadn't  killed  the  quail,  after  all,  their  shrill 
note  began  to  annoy  her  again.  She  quivered  visibly, 
almost  ostentatiously,  at  each  repetition  of  "bohzvhite! 
hohwhiter  until  I  had  to  bite  my  lips  to  keep  from 
reminding  her  that  her  complaints  about  a  few  quail 
had  caused  tragedy  enough  already. 

But  the  day  passed  somehow,  and  the  night.  Long 
before  ten  on  Monday  morning  I  sat  on  a  front  seat 
at  the  town  hall,  between  Dorothy  and  her  brother, 
waiting  for  the  inquest  to  begin.  Aunt  Mary  had 
protested  pathetically  against  our  "desertion,"  but 
for  once  her  desires  were  ignored. 

The  room  began  to  fill.  At  last  the  coroner  ar- 
rived, then  the  sheriff,  bringing  Lewis  with  him. 
The  boy  came  straight  to  us  and  sat  down  beside 
Dorothy,  his  guard  dropping  unobtrusively  into  a 
seat  behind. 

"Cheer  up,  honey!"  whispered  Lewis.  "Hello, 
unk!  Hello,  Peter!  Old  Redden's  a  brick;  treated 
me  like  a  son.  I  slept  in  his  spare  bedroom.  It'll 
all  come  right." 

Then  the  coroner  rapped  for  order,  and  the  pro- 
ceedings began. 

I  have  not  the  heart,  even  now,  to  tell  all  that 
happened.  Our  high  hopes  were  struck  to  the 
ground  almost  at  once. 

For  the  district  attorney  appeared,  the  "State 
Sohcitor,"  as  he  is  called  in  North  Carolina,  and 
he  took  charge  of  affairs.  Coroner  Burgess  did  his 
best  for  Lewis,  and  he  proved  himself  a  kindly  and 
impartial  presiding  officer.     He  did  more;  he  even 


THE  INQUEST  91 

leaned  toward  us  and  argued  in  Lewis'  favor.  He 
was  moved,  perhaps,  by  the  bond  of  their  common 
profession;  perhaps  by  a  conviction  that  the  boy 
was  innocent;  perhaps  by  Dorothy's  appealing  face, 
and  the  memory  of  that  excellent  breakfast.  But, 
whatever  the  reason,  he  did  his  best  for  us. 

Nevertheless,  the  solicitor,  Toby  Vanbrugh,  com- 
bated all  his  well-meant  efforts.  Vanbrugh  was  a 
large-bodied  young  man,  with  a  heavy,  dignified 
face,  whose  features  all  seemed  two  sizes  too  big 
for  it — except  his  eyes,  w^hich  were  three  sizes  too 
small  and  an  inch  too  close  together.  He  wore  a 
flapping  frock  coat  and  a  black  string  tie,  the  con- 
ventional get-up  of  the  old-fashioned  country  lawyer. 
His  voice  and  gestures  made  him  seem  like  a  cheap 
actor,  playing  the  part  of  the  fearless  prosecutor  in 
a  melodrama. 

He  had  been  a  close  friend  of  Doctor  Gaskell's, 
but  I  do  not  think  it  w^as  that  friendship  which 
moved  him.  No,  he  saw  here  the  makings  of  an 
important  murder  trial,  in  which  both  victim  and 
murderer  were  people  of  prominence  in  the  country- 
side. He  saw  an  opportunity  for  self-advertisement. 
The  jMcGregors  were  rich,  he  knew,  and  I  was  not 
without  means.  If  Lewis  could  be  indicted  for  the 
murder  of  Doctor  Gaskell,  there  would  be  a  long  and 
hard-fought  trial;  prominent  lawyers  would  appear 
for  the  defense ;  there  would  be  columns  and  columns 
of  publicity  for  the  alert  young  prosecutor,  who 
faced,  alone  and  unaided,  this  galaxy  of  legal  talent 
and  fought  it  to  a  standstill,  vindicating  the  rights 
of   the  commonwealth,  demanding  equal  justice   for 


92  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

the  rich  as  for  the  poor.  Oh,  he  was  not  an  un- 
common type,  this  Vanbrugh;  every  community  East 
and  West,  North  and  South,  has  known  his  like. 

He  allowed  the  coroner  to  present  his  case;  the 
discovery  of  the  body  upon  the  heels  of  a  gun  shot, 
with  Lewis  standing  over  it,  gun  in  hand.  The 
coroner  stated  the  cause  of  death  and  showed  his 
jury  a  half  dozen  bird  shot.  These  had  been  ex- 
tracted from  the  wound,  and  he  gave  it  as  his  opin- 
ion, as  he  had  to  us  yesterday,  that  Gaskell  might 
have  been  lying  there  dead  before  Lewis  shot.  Then 
the  district  attorney  arose  and  asked  permission  to 
introduce  other  evidence  ''for  the  State." 

He  called  Olsen,  the  druggist,  to  testify,  reluc- 
tantly enough,  to  Lewis'  threats  in  his  store.  He 
called  Satterfield  and  the  constable  and  two  or  three 
others  who  had  overheard  my  nephew's  angry  talk. 
With  diabolic  skill  he  made  it  appear  that  Lewis 
had  not  merely  spoken  against  Gaskell,  but  that  he 
had  definitely  threatened  to  shoot  him.  He  de- 
manded the  gun  Levv'is  had  carried;  when  it  was 
placed  in  evidence,  he  cut  open  the  undischarged 
cartridge — it  was  a  double-barreled  shotgun — and 
showed  the  jury  that  the  shot  were  identical  with 
the   shot  extracted   from   Gaskell's  body. 

I  had  already  testified,  but  he  recalled  me  and 
made  an  impassioned  address  to  the  jury,  under  the 
cover  of  a  cross-examination. 

''Now,  Mr.  Uhlman,  is  it  not  true  that  your 
nephew,  after  disagreeing  with  Doctor  Gaskell  in  a 
question  of  diagnosis,  lost  his  temper  entirely?  Did 
he   not   make    a    disgraceful    exhibition    of    himself, 


THE  INQUEST  93 

abusing  this  poor  dead  man,  this  Doctor  Gaskell, 
a  gentleman  of  the  highest  professional  attainments, 
of  the  most  scrupulous  personal  honor,  a  gentleman 
known  to  all  in  this  community,  loved  by  all  for  his 
unselfish  devotion  to  his  healing  work,  for  the  many, 
many,  unobtrusive  acts  of  charity,  of  loving  kind- 
ness, to  which  scores  in  this  very  room,  aye,  hun- 
dreds in  this  town,  can  testify — and  would  so  testify, 
though  they  must  walk  barefooted  over  sharp  stones 
to  tell  of  Doctor  Gaskell's  noble  nature,  and  to  con- 
found his  cowardly  slayer " 

The  coroner  rapped  sharply.  "I  wall  ask  you  to 
remember,  Mr.  \^anbrugh,  that  you're  supposed  to  be 
questioning  this  witness,  not  to  be  making  a  stump 
speech !" 

"I  beg  the  court's  pardon  if  my  afifection  for  this 
poor  gentleman,  so  foully  done  to  death,  overcame 
me  for  the  moment.  Surely  no  praise  of  one,  whom 
we  all  loved,  is  out  of  place  here,  beside  his  dead 
body!  But  I  will  refrain."  He  wiped  his  eyes 
ostentatiously.  "Now,  Mr.  Uhlman,  is  it  not  true 
that  your  nephew,  the  prisoner,  made  threats  against 
Doctor  Gaskell  at  Miss  McGregor's  house,  even  be- 
fore his  outbreak  at  Olsen's  store  Saturday?" 

And  I  had  to  admit  it,  cursing  Rosina's  loose 
tongue  to  myself;  for  I  could  guess  whence  \''an- 
brugh's  knowledge  of  the  quarrel  over  Aunt  Mary's 
health  had  come. 

"And  do  you  believe,  sir,  remembering  that  you 
are  upon  your  oath,  do  you  ask  this  jury  to  believe 
that  your  nephew,  this  prisoner,  went  out  into  the 
dawn,  armed  with  a  deadly  weapon,  without  knowl- 


94  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

edge  or  suspicion  of  the  murdered  man's  where- 
abouts? Do  you  not  know  that  he  had  expressed 
a  deadly  animosity  against  my  poor,  dead  friend, 
that " 

Playing  skillfully  upon  the  sectional  prejudices  of 
the  audience,  for  my  nephew  and  I  had  come  down 
from  the  North,  Vanbrugh  rolled  out  a  fervid 
eulogium  of  the  dead  man,  like  Marc  Antony  beside 
the  bier  of  Csesar.  Evidently  he  was  enjoying  him- 
self thoroughly. 

He  kept  sneering  at  Lewis,  and  he  continually 
referred  to  him  as  my  nephew,  doing  his  best  to 
make  it  appear  that  I  was  suppressing  a  guilty 
knowledge  because  of  our  relationship.  In  every 
way  he  exercised  the  arts  of  an  unscrupulous  dema- 
gogue until  I  became  confused  and  incoherent  and 
,  stuttered  with  wrath,  thereby  making  the  case 
against  Lewis  blacker  than  ever. 

But  I  will  not  repeat  all  he  said.  Even  now  the 
memory  turns  me  furious.  I  will  only  say  that  when 
the  coroner  at  last  cut  him  off  and  turned  the  case 
over  to  the  jury  the  verdict  was  a  foregone  con- 
clusion. 

Lewis  leaned  over  to  me.  From  the  moment  he 
left  the  stand  he  had  beeen  deathly  white;  there  were 
dark,  bruised  rings  under  his  eyes;  his  features 
twitched,  his  hands  shook  pitiably.  "And  the  worst 
of  it  is,  unk,"  he  whispered  tragically,  "that  I  really 
did  shoot  the  poor  chap!  Oh,  I'm  sure  of  it  now.'^ 
He  tugged  at  his  disordered  black  hair.  "And, 
unk,  that  fiend  Vanbrugh  has  almost  made  me  think 
I  did  it  on  purpose!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

A     CONFLAGRATION 

THE  jury's  deliberations  were  cruelly  short.  They 
conferred  in  whispers,  while  we  waited  in 
agony.  Beside  me,  Dorothy  gripped  my  hand  so 
tightly  that  my  old,  rheumatic  fingers  ached  for 
an  hour  after,  though  at  the  time  I  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  her  touch.  Beyond  her  Lewis  sat  in 
frozen  hopelessness,  still  numbed  by  the  shock  of 
this  sudden,  dreadful  catastrophe  which  had  over- 
whelmed us.  At  my  other  side,  staunch  little  Peter 
sat  bold  upright,  chewing  his  mustache  and  mutter- 
ing to  himself. 

Then  the  jurymen  all  nodded,  and  the  foreman 
rose  and  turned  toward  Doctor  Burgess.  The 
coroner  sighed,  stroking  his  beard.  His  fat,  kindly 
face  looked  worried. 

"Have  you  made  up  your  minds,  gentlemen?" 

''Uh-huh,"  said  the  foreman.  *'We  find  that  Doc 
Gaskell  come  t'  his  death  f'om  a  shotgun  full  o' 
bird  shot  at  th'  hands  o'  Doc  Parker,  yonder;  an* 
we  riccomend  holdin'  him  f'r  th'  superior  court!'* 

Doctor  Burgess  sighed  and  cast  an  ugly  look 
at  the  district  attorney.  "Your  doings,  Vanbrugh!" 
he  said  in  an  undertone.  Then  aloud:  "Til  have  to 
hold  you  for  the  action  of  the  July  grand  jury, 
Parker.     I'm  sorry.     Court's  dismissed." 

Behind  us,  the  sheriflF  rose  and  tapped  Lewis  on 


96  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

the  shoulder.  ''Come  on,  boy;  gotta  take  ye  back. 
I  sure  am  sorry,  ma'am" — he  looked  at  Dorothy — 
''but  it  ain't  f  r  long.  You  don't  need  to  pay  no 
attention  t'   Vanbrugh's   foolishness.'* 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Dorothy,  "and  day  after  to- 
morrow is  my  wedding  day!" 

Sheriff  Redden  shuffled  his  feet  awkwardly,  flinch- 
ing at  the  sound  of  her  quiet  weeping.  "Aw,  too 
bad!"  he  said. 

With  Lewis  at  his  elbow,  he  began  pushing 
through  the  crowded,  noisy  room.  It  was  full  of 
gabbling,  excited  groups,  which  gave  way  reluc- 
tantly, and  we  received  many  an  ugly  look. 

"A  dirty  murderer !"  muttered  some  one.  A  stonn 
of  hisses  and  groans  arose,  as  the  crowd  began  to 
push  closer,  still  inflamed  by  Vanbrugh's  insinua- 
tions. 

"Shut  up,  boys!"  said  the  sheriff  amiably.  ''Git 
back!     Cain't  yuh  see  th'  lady's  tryin'  to  git  out?" 

It  was  enough.  With  instinctive  courtesy  the 
throng  separated,  leaving  a  wide  lane.  Dorothy 
passed  through  it  unhindered,  with  Lewis  at  one 
side  and  me  at  the  other.  Her  face  was  very  white, 
and  her  eyes  were  downcast.  Her  pathetic  beauty 
changed  the  crowd's  humor  completely  and  evoked  a 
little,  pitying  murmur. 

So  we  went  out  and  parted  almost  without  a  word. 
Like  a  man  in  a  dream,  Lewis  climbed  into  the 
sheriff's  battered  car  and  rode  away  to  jail,  without 
once  looking  back.  Dorothy  leaned  heavily  on  my 
shoulder,  straining  her  eyes  after  him  until  he  was 
out  of  sight.     Then  she  stepped  forward  falteringly. 


A  CONFLAGRATION  97 

"T-take  me  home,  Peter — Uncle  George.  No,  I 
won't  faint!  I  zvon't!  I  can  w-walk  all  by  my 
own  self!" 

And  so  she  did,  upheld  by  a  pathetic  pride,  until 
we  were  back  at  Fort  House.  Then  she  collapsed, 
and  Peter  and  I  carried  her  to  her  own  room  and 
called  for  the  nurse.  Then  we  two  men  walked 
downstairs  together  and  turned  into  the  living  room, 
to  stand  there  aimlessly. 

*'Well,"  I  asked  at  last,  "what  next?" 

Peter  jerked  back  his  head,  straightening  his  slim 
shoulders  with  a  characteristic  movement.  "Whew! 
That  was  a  cropper!  I  never  dreamed  they'd  hold 
him.  I  say,  that  chap  Vanbrugh  is  a  bounder,  isn't 
he?" 

He  stroked  his  little  mustache,  lit  a  cigarette,  and 
was  himself  again — energetic,  active,  efficient.  "We'll 
run  right  out  to  the  jail,"  he  decided,  "and  chat  with 
old  Lewis.  Have  to  lay  our  plans,  you  know — get 
a  good  lawyer  and  all  that.  I  say,  that  was  a  crop- 
per! But  a  lawyer'll  know  what  to  do — get  the  old 
boy  out  in  jig  time!" 

I  was  less  optimistic;  though,  when  one  viewed 
the  matter  dispassionately,  there  seemed  scant 
grounds  for  a  charge  of  murder.  Yet  this  Van- 
brugh was  fiendishly  apt.  Directly  we  got  out 
Lewis'  flivver,  which  Peter  drove  well  enough,  and 
went  to  the  courthouse.  We  found  Lewis  in  the 
jail  office,  sitting  in  an  easy-chair  beside  the  cold 
fireplace,  while  the  sheriff,  from  behind  the  official 
desk,  strove  to  cheer  him  up.  Both  men  were  in 
their  shirt  sleeves,  for  it  had  turned  very  hot. 


98  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

^'Evening,  folks!"  said  Redden.  "Set  down  an' 
rest  yore  face  an'  hands.  I  ain't  goin'  t'  lock  Parker 
up  ontil  night.  He'll  have  t'  go  into  a  cell  then, 
but  they's  no  use  of  bein'  too  hard  on  th'  boy. 
You-all  can  talk  right  here,  gentlemen ;  I  got  business 
over  to  th'  office,  anyways." 

Catching  up  his  wide  felt  hat  he  shambled  out, 
leaving  us  alone.  'T  better  lock  th'  front  door," 
he  apologized,  "just  in  case  anybody  sh'd  drop  by." 

He  disappeared,  and  I  saw  him  through  the  win- 
dow, waddling  bow-legged  toward  the  courthouse. 
A  very  kindly,  courteous  gentleman,  the  high  sheriff 
of  Carabas  County;  I  only  wished  the  prosecuting 
attorney  were  as  gracious. 

I  turned  back  to  Lewis.  "My  boy,  we  seem  to  be 
in  a  fix,"  I  told  him.  "Confound  Mary  McGregor, 
the  knots  in  her  neck,  and  the  bobwhites  that  kept 
her  awake!"  For  my  heart  was  hot  in  me  with 
mingled  fear  and  anger,  and  my  head  ached,  and 
my  old,  rheumatic  joints;  and  I  could  not  forget 
that  this  whole  horror  had  come  from  Aunt  Mary's 
querulousness. 

"Sit  down  and  take  it  quiet,  unk,"  said  Peter 
coolly.  I  had  not  been  long  in  Pinelands,  as  I  have 
said;  but  to  Peter  I  was  "Uncle  George,"  or,  more 
casually,  "unk,"  as  to  Dorothy  and,  for  that  matter, 
to  half  the  youth  of  the  town. 

"Be  easy!  The  old  girl's  a  bit  of  a  bunker  to  all 
of  us,  I  know,  but  we'll  have  Lewis  out  of  this  all 
right.  And  now,  old  son,  we'll  have  to  be  getting 
you  a  lawyer  right  away.  Anybody  to  suggest? 
Some  friend  of  your  long-past  youth,  perhaps,  and 


A  CONFLAGRATION  99 

all  that  rot?"  His  assumption  of  bluff,  care-free 
gayety  was  well  done,  but  it  did  not  deceive  me.  I 
knew  that  Peter,  too,  was  worried. 

My  nephew  sighed,  staring  straight  before  him. 
His  shoulders  drooped;  his  eyes  were  dull  and  heavy. 
He  seemed  in  a  daze;  I  could  scarcely  recognize  in 
him  the  impetuous,  high-spirited  youth  who  had  been 
as  a  son  to  me  all  these  years. 

*'I — I  don't  know,"  he  answered  dully.  "I  can't 
seem  to  think.  All  I  can  see  is  Gaskell  in  front  of 
me — dead.  I  keep  telling  myself  I  couldn't  have 
done  it,  and  yet  I  know  I  did."  Then  he  lapsed 
into  silence  once  more,  still  with  that  vague,  spirit- 
less stare. 

Peter  and  I  looked  at  each  other  queerly.  *T 
don't  beheve  you  did  do  it,  old  top!"  Lewis 
straightened  at  once,  a  hint  of  hope  in  his  eye.  Peter 
had  hit  unerringly  upon  the  best  of  tonics;  I  saw 
that. 

'T'm  sure  you  didn't,  Lewis,"  the  boy  w^ent  on, 
emboldened  by  my  nephew's  interest.  *Tt  isn't 
reasonable.  Suppose  we  sent  for  some  doctor  that's 
a  law  sharp,  too?  Burgess  is  all  right,  of  course, 
but  maybe  some  medico-legal  expert  could  find  out 
something  to  prove  Gaskell  was  dead  when  you  got 
there." 

Lewis  sprang  up,  a  faint  color  in  his  cheeks. 
"Why,  of  course!  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to  think 
of  it  before.  There's  Somers,  old  Floyd  Somers! 
Why,  he'll  be  here  to-night.  Just  the  man,  Somers 
is.  Why,  he'll  take  hold  of  this  thing  and  straighten 
it  out  in  a  day;  he  just  eats  this  sort  of  thing.     He'll 


100  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

prove  I  couldn't  have  killed  Gaskell — unless" — and 
his  shoulders  drooped  again — ''unless  I  really  did." 

That  was  the  boy's  only  show  of  interest.  Almost 
at  once  he  sunk  again  into  apathy,  brooding,  I  could 
see,  upon  the  thought  that  he  had  killed  a  man,  how- 
ever innocently.  That  was  what  weighed  upon  him, 
not  any  fears  for  the  future.  He  waved  away  all  our 
suggestions.  Lawyers?  No,  what  difference  did  it 
make?  Get  any  lawyer — anybody!  Better  still,  let 
Somers  see  to  that.  He'd  know  what  to  do  when 
he  came.  Then  he  lapsed  into  silence  again,  chin  on 
hands,  only  to  burst  forth : 

"And  I  was  really  angry — that's  the  worst  of  it. 
For  a  moment,  there  in  Olsen's,  I  was  mad  enough 
to  have  shot  him.  And  then  to  think  I  did  shoot 
him,  after  that!  Why,  it  makes  it  as  bad  as  murder, 
even  though  I  didn't  know  he  was  there.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  plead  guilty  and  take  my  medicine." 

We  cried  out  upon  him.  ''Don't  be  a  fool,  Lewis," 
I  said,  fairly  shaking  him  in  my  anxiety.  "Wake 
up!  Pull  yourself  together;  act  like  a  man!  You're 
not   yourself.      What   shall   we   do,   Peter?" 

Peter  shook  his  head.  "Wait  for  Somers,  as  he 
says.  That's  all  I  can  see."  He  paused,  sniffing. 
"I  say,  unk,  what's  that?  Seems  to  me  I  smell 
smoke." 

So  did  I.  Suddenly  I  noticed  that  a  thin,  blue 
wreath  was  creeping  in  beneath  the  door,  which 
Sheriff  Redden  had  closed  upon  us.  My  eyes 
smarted.  The  door  was  locked;  I  ran  to  a  window 
to  yell  at  a  couple  of  loafers  on  the  courthouse  steps. 

"Hey!    You  over  there!    Call  the  sheriff!" 


A  CONFLAGRATION  lOi 

They  stirred,  stared  at  the  jail  idly  for  a  moment, 
then  leaped  to  their  feet. 

"My  gosh!"  said  one.  'Th'  jail's  afire.  Hey, 
Hank!  Hev,  Redden!  Redden!  Come  a-rimnin', 
th'  jail's  on  iire!" 

The  sheriff  appeared,  at  his  heels  half  a  dozen 
clerks  and  county  officials  in  shirt  sleeves.  They 
all  ran  toward  us,  bawling  aloud: 

'Tire!  Fire!  Fi-re!  Send  in  an  alarm  t'  Smyrna 
— no,  to  Pinelands!  Better  call  'em  both!  Hustle 
up,  sheriff,  turn  them  pris'ners  loose!" 

They  pelted  up  the  steps;  a  key  sounded  in  the 
door,  and  presently  Lewis,  Peter,  and  I  were  out- 
side, taking  great  breaths  of  the  fresh  air.  The 
clerk  of  the  superior  court  stood  at  my  elbow,  a  fat, 
red-faced  man  in  a  shiny  black  alpaca  coat.  He 
wiped  his  moist  face. 

"Carabas  County's  goin'  to  build  another  new  jail, 
I  reckon,"  he  drawled  resignedly. 

The  building  itself  was  of  brick,  but  floors,  doors, 
and  interior  trim  were  all  pine,  and  they  burned 
merrily.  All  the  prisoners  must  be  loosed;  Sheriff 
Redden  and  his  deputy  herded  them  out  and  rounded 
them  up  in  two  groups,  white  and  colored,  while 
county  officials  organized  a  volunteer  guard. 

As  I  have  said,  the  county  buildings  were  equidis- 
tant from  Smyrna  and  Pinelands;  before  the  fire 
department  of  either  town  could  answer  the  alarm 
the  fire  had  a  fine  start.  Then  both  engines  ar- 
rived at  once,  and  the  sheriff  was  put  to  it  to  prevent 
a  fight  between  the  rival  fire  companies  for  prior 
rights  to  a  hydrant.     At  last  the  blaze  was  subdued, 


102  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

and  by  sundown  the  two  engines  pumped  water 
upon  an  empty  brick  shell,  whose  furniture  and  wood- 
work were  destroyed.  Some  of  the  cells,  of  steel 
and  concrete,  were  undamaged;  but  even  these  were 
too  hot  for  occupancy. 

Sheriff  Redden  stopped  beside  me  to  stroke  his 
absurd  wisp  of  mustache.  ''Quite  a  clearance,"  he 
observed  mildly.  ''Started  over  on  th'  colored  side; 
George  Willett's  colored  boy,  Jim,  he  done  set  fire  t' 
another  boy's  mattress  'f'r  a  joke,'  he  claims.  I  aim 
t'  make  that  fellow  realize  it  wa'n't  no  joke.  Uh-huh! 
But  we  cain't  keep  nobody  out  here  to-night,  nohow. 
Lucky  I  ain't  got  more'n  nine  pris'ners,  an'  most 
o'  them  c'n  go  right  to  Smyrna  to  th'  lockup  there. 
An'  Doc  Parker  here,"  turning  to  Lewis,  "w'y,  doc, 
I  reckon  I  better  send  you  back  t*  Pinelands.  They 
got  a  reel  comf'table  lockup  there,  an'  Rufe  Wake- 
field, he'll  look  after  you  good.  Ain't  got  no  back- 
bone, Rufe  ain't,  but  he's  got  a  reel  good  heart,  an' 
his  ol'  woman  cooks  splendid.  Yessuh!  Be  kinda 
better  f'r  yuh,  anyways,  mebbe,  right  clost  to  yore 
folks  that  a  way." 

Thus  it  was  arranged,  and  presently  Peter  and 
Lewis  and  I,  with  a  taciturn,  tobacco-chewing  deputy 
sheriff,  squeezed  into  the  flivver  and  drove  back  to 
Pinelands. 

We  routed  out  Wakefield,  the  constable,  and  he 
took  us  all  to  the  village  lockup,  a  small  brick  build- 
ing, rather  like  a  magnified  shoebox,  directly  behind 
the  business  section  of  Pinelands.  Its  interior  proved 
rather  better  than  I  had  feared;  though  hardly 
palatial,  it  was  comfortable  enough. 


A  CONFLAGRATION  103 

"Reel  nice  room!"  Wakefield  pointed  it  out  with 
pardonable  pride.  ''Spring  bed  and  ever'thing. 
Colored  side's  beyond  that  brick  wall  there.  Mister 
Uhlman  c'n  fetch  ye  sheets,  'f  he  w^ants  t',  or  any- 
thing else.  An'  th'  woman'll  cook  ye  up  some  sup- 
per directly." 

We  left,  promising  to  return  shortly  with  sheets, 
a  feather  pillow  and  a  clean  mattress,  an  armchair, 
and  w'hat  comforts  we  could  manage.  Lewis  dropped 
on  the  edge  of  the  bunk,  chin  in  hands,  and  let  us 
go  without  a  word. 


id 


if 


CHAPTER   X 

MORE    TROUBLE    THREATENS 

AS  we  climbed  back  into  the  flivver,  I  suddenly 
became  conscious  of  an  aching  internal  void. 
I  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  morning;  in  the 
shock  of  that  unimagined  verdict  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten my  lunch. 

'Let's  go  and  eat,  Peter,"  I  suggested. 
'Right-o !" 

Just  as  we  climbed  into  the  flivver  the  shrill  whistle 
of  an  approaching  train  sounded.     Peter  swore. 

'The  Limited!"  he  said.  ''This  is  Monday  night, 
and  poor  old  Lewis'  best  man  will  be  on  that  train. 
We'll  have  to  stop  for  him,  unk.  I  only  hope  he's 
as  good  as  the  old  boy  thinks ;  maybe  we'll  get  a  little 
action." 

"I  hope  so,  indeed.  But,  Peter,  he  can't  have  had 
much  experience.  He  was  Lewis'  classmate,  you 
know.  I'm  afraid  the  boy  overvalues  him.  We  can't 
look  for  too  much  from  him." 

*'Well,  we'll  see  soon  enough."  Peter  stopped  the 
car  beside  the  tracks,  just  as  the  long  string  of 
Pullmans  clanked  and  squealed  to  a  halt.  Only  one 
vestibule  was  opened,  for  this  was  the  through  train 
for  Florida,  and  in  summer  it  rarely  left  a  passenger 
at  Pinelands. 

A  single  passenger  alighted;  a  tall,  lanky  young 
man,  whose  hat  was  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.     His 


MORE  TROUBLE  THREATENS  105 

arms  and  legs  seemed  extraordinarily  long  and  thin. 
The  porter  dropped  a  couple  of  bags  beside  him, 
caught  up  his  step,  and  climbed  back;  the  long  train 
wheezed  and  roared  away. 

The  stranger  stood  still,  looking  irritably  about 
the  deserted  platform.  In  winter  the  Pinelands  sta- 
tion is  lively  enough,  with  gay-clad,  chattering  folk, 
with  expensive  motor  cars  parked  the  full  length 
of  its  platforms;  while  passengers  by  the  dozen,  bear- 
ing golf  bags  and  gun  cases  and  tennis  rackets,  climb 
on  and  off  every  train.  Ours  is  a  tourist  town,  and 
it  begins  to  be  one  of  the  best-known  of  the  Eastern 
winter  resorts.     But  in  summer  it  is  quiet  enough. 

The  stranger  scowled,  I  say,  and  glanced  about 
him  with  an  expression  of  acute  dissatisfaction  upon 
his  dark,  saturnine  features.  '^Friendly  looking  beg- 
gar, what?"  whispered  Peter  to  me.  Then  he  saw  us 
and  beckoned  imperiously, 

"Where's  Parker?"  he  demanded.  "Doctor 
Parker?" 

"He's  detained,"  said  I,  advancing  with  out- 
stretched hand.  "I'm  his  uncle,  George  Uhlman. 
This   is   Doctor   Somers?" 

"How  do?"  he  asked  indifferently.  "Pity  Parker 
couldn't  take  the  trouble  to  come  himself !  Rotten 
town,  this.     Those  are  my  bags." 

He  stalked  to  the  car  and  clambered  in,  his  re- 
markably long,  thin  arms  and  legs  giving  him  some- 
what the  appearance  of  that  insect  we  used  to  call 
daddy  longlegs.  Peter  winked  at  me,  then  picked 
up  the  bags,  which  our  cavalier  guest  had  indicated, 
and  lugged  them  meekly  to  the  car. 


io6  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

''Where  to,  sir?"  Peter  asked,  burlesquing  a  chauf- 
feur's salute. 

Doctor  Somers  grinned;  his  dark,  sardonic  face 
changed  wonderfully,  and  for  an  instant  became 
cheerful,  friendly.  "Don't  be  an  ass,"  he  requested 
equably.  "You're  Peter  McGregor,  I  take  it.  Lewis 
has  written  me  about  you,  his  best  girl's  brother. 
He  said  you  were  a  little  runt." 

Peter  snorted.  "He  never  told  me  you  were  such 
a  long,  silly  clothes  prop,"  he  retorted.  "Why,  man, 
those  legs  haven't  any  more  meat  on  'em  than  bean 
poles!"     Peter's  size  is  a  sore  topic  with  him. 

The  stranger  grinned  again,  quite  undisturbed. 
"Climb  in,  climb  in,"  he  urged.  "I'm  hungry.  Where 
is  old  Parker,  anyhow?  Ministering  to  the  needs  of 
his  extensive  and  growing  practice,  no  doubt." 

I  had  found  the  man's  brusque,  indifferent  impu- 
dence rather  engaging,  but  this  question  sobered  me 
suddenly.  "My  nephew  is  in  trouble,"  I  replied. 
"No" — Doctor  Somers'  lips  opened — "don't  make 
any  fool  joke  about  it.  It's  a  serious  matter.  He's 
in  jail,  charged  with  murder." 

But,  if  I  had  looked  for  excitement  or  interest, 
I  was  disappointed.  Doctor  Somers  made  no  com- 
ment, showed  no  interest  whatever.  "Well,  drive 
on,"  he  said.     "I'm  hungry." 

We  drove  home  in  silence  to  an  agitated  house- 
hold. Luckily  Dorothy  had  not  yet  heard  of  the 
fire  at  the  jail;  she  had  been  spared  that  further 
alarm.  Over  the  supper  table  we  told  her,  and  she 
listened,  wide-eyed  and  tremulous. 

Aunt  ]Mary  did  not  come  to  the  table.     She  had 


MORE  TROUBLE  THREATENS  107 

been  much  subdued  all  day,  it  appeared,  and  had  kept 
to  her  room  and  scarcely  opened  her  mouth,  even 
to  discuss  her  sufferings.  So  the  nurse,  Miss 
Christie,  could  eat  undisturbed  to-night.  As  usual, 
she  had  nothing  to  say.  With  her  round,  sleepy 
face  bent  over  her  plate,  she  ate  hurriedly  and 
pushed  back  her  chair  before  we  others  were  through, 
murmuring  an  apology.  She  must  go  and  fix  Miss 
McGregor's  tray. 

Our  guest,  Doctor  Somers,  was  taciturn  also. 
Poor,  distraught  Dorothy  had  given  him  a  word  of 
greeting  and  then  forgotten  him.  She  was  too 
upset  to  play  the  hostess.  But  he  did  not  seem 
in  the  least  embarrassed.  He  ate  sparingly,  his 
sallow  face  wearing  that  same  expression  of  distaste 
for  everything  about  him:  His  gray-green  eyes, 
curiously  light  beneath  black  brows,  were  fixed  keenly 
upon  Miss  Christie's  sleepy  face.  He  did  not  seem 
at  all  interested  in  what  Peter  and  I  were  saying  to 
his   hostess. 

When  the  nurse  had  gone  out  he  turned  to  me. 
*'I  take  it  that  my  friend  Parker  has  got  himself  into 
trouble."  His  face  was  sober  enough,  but,  behind 
it,  the  hint  of  a  sarcastic  grin  seemed  to  lurk.  *'Sup- 
pose  you  tell  me  just  how  it  happened,  now.  All  I 
gather  from  your  discourse  to  date  is  that  he's  in  jail, 
charged  with  murder  by  a  coroner's  jury — or,  rather, 
that  he  was  in  jail  until  it  burned  down." 

Dorothy  turned  upon  him,  a  heartbreaking  hope 
shining  from  her  eyes.  ''Oh,  Doctor  Somers,  we're  so 
upset!  You  must  forgive  us.  But  Lewis  told  me 
you'd  straighten  it  out  for  him.     Why " 


io8  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Somers'  thin  lips  parted  in  an  acid  grin,  but  he 
said  nothing.  We  all  began  to  talk  at  once,  pouring 
out  breathlessly  the  whole  dreadful  story,  and  he 
listened  abstractedly,  or,  at  least,  we  supposed  he  >vas 
listening. 

"And  so  the  jury  recommended  that  he  be  held," 
I  finished.  "There  were  no  grounds  at  all — it  was 
pure  accident.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  miserable 
lawyer  Vanbrugh '' 

Somers  yawned  and  nodded  his  head.  "I've  got 
it!"  he  announced.  "Of  course  I'll  make  an  exami- 
nation in  the  morning,  but  I'm  sure  of  it  now." 

We  all  gaped  at  him,  open-mouthed.  "That  girl, 
the  nurse,"  he  went  on  placidly,  "deficient  thyroid! 
That's  what  ails  her.     No  wonder  she  looks  sleepy!" 

"Gr-r-r-r!"  said  Peter  indignantly,  and  pushed 
back  his  chair.  "I'm  going  for  the  mail."  He 
stalked  out. 

Doctor  Somers  looked  from  Dorothy  to  me  and 
back  again,  with  that  curious  suggestion  of  a  sar- 
donic grin  behind  his  sober  face.  Plainly  enough 
our  faces  expressed  disgusted  hopelessness. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  in  apology,  and  there  was 
something  very  likable  in  his  frank,  direct  gaze.  "Pm 
a  queer  sort,  I  suppose.  I'm  always  getting  off  on 
the  wrong  foot  like  this.  But,  after  you  get  to 
know  me  better,  you'll  find  I'm  not  so  bad  after  all. 
I  heard  all  you  said,"  he  went  on,  to  Dorothy's 
implacable  face.  "I'm  used  to  thinking  of  two  or 
three  things  at  once;  in  my  work  one  has  to.  Cheer 
up!  That's  better,"  he  declared,  as  Dorothy,  in  spite 
of  herself,  softened  l:>efore  his   friendliness. 


MORE  TROUBLE  THREATENS  109 

*Tt's  a  pretty  serious  thing — to  us !"  she  replied. 

"My  child,"  he  answered  very  gravely — and  he 
could  not  have  been  over  thirty,  I  supposed,  but 
suddenly  he  seemed  older,  wiser,  more  mature  than 
I  am  at  sixty — 'T  know  it,  but  the  only  way  to  handle 
a  matter  like  this  is  to  go  at  it  dispassionately.  I'm 
fond  of  old  Parker  myself" — and  the  dark,  sour  face 
softened  wonderfully  for  a  second — "but  I  can't  let 
myself  get  flustered  and  upset  and  run  round  in  rings 
as  you  folks  have.  For  example:  You  heard  the 
shot,  Uhlman.  You  ran  out  at  once,  got  there  within 
five  minutes,  and  put  your  hand  on  the  dead  man's 
chest,  didn't  you?" 

I  nodded  in  amazement.  The  fellow  had  heard 
all  we  said,  after  all! 

"You  touched  the  body,  then,  within  perhaps  five 
minutes  of  the  time  Parker  shot.  Now,  did  it  occur 
to  you  to  notice  whether  it  was  still  warm — or 
cold?" 

I  stared  dumbly,  searching  a  confused  memory. 
"Why — why,  I  never  thought  of  that.  I  was  too 
upset.  But  now  I  remember.  Why,  of  course,  I 
noticed  it  at  once;  his  flesh  was  as  cold  as  a  stone! 
That's  why  I  was  sure  he  was  dead."  Then  an 
illuminating  thought  struck  me;  I  jumped  up,  shout- 
ing. "Hurrah!  He  didn't  do  it,  Dorothy,  he  didn't 
do  it  by  accident  or  any  way!  He  couldn't  have,  of 
course!  I  must  run  right  down  there  and  tell  him; 
that's  what  has  been  troubling  him  all  along — the 
thought  that  he'd  killed  a  man!" 

"Sit  down,"  suggested  Somers  equably.  "Take  it 
easy.      There's    been    altogether    too    much    of    this 


no  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

running  round  and  talking,  and  too  little  plain 
thinking." 

I  accepted  the  rebuke.  "You're  right.  Why,  if 
I'd  only  thought  of  this  before,  there  wouldn't  have 
been  any  trouble  at  the  inquest.     I'm  an  old  fool!" 

"No  bigger  fool  than  your  nephew  or  the  con- 
stable," he  replied.  "If  any  one  of  the  three  of  you 
had  thought  to  observe  that  the  body  was  cold,  or 
had  stopped  bleeding,  you'd  have  known  the  man 
hadn't  been  killed  before  your  eyes.  Of  course,  by 
the  time  the  coroner  got  there,  it  w^as  too  late  to  fix 
the  time  of  death  exactly." 

Dorothy  sighed  ecstatically,  her  face  rosy  with 
new-born  confidence  in  this  brusque,  saturnine 
stranger.     "What  shall  we  do  next?" 

"Humph!  Wedding  was  set  for  Wednesday, 
wasn't  it?    How  many  invitations  did  you  send  out?" 

She  looked  at  him  blanklv.  "Whv,  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty;  we  didn't  ask  everybody.  Oh, 
dear,  we  can't  have  it  now,  can  we?" 

"Hardly.  Have  you  sent  out  notices  of  postpone- 
ment?" 

"We  never  thought  of  that!" 

Doctor  Somers  yawned.  "I  think  you  needed  me," 
he  said. 

Just  then  the  front  door  opened,  and  Peter  burst 
in,  white-faced  and  trembling. 

"Come,  Uncle  George!"  he  exclaimed.  And  then, 
with  a  glance  of  supreme  disfavor  at  Doctor  Somers, 
"And  you,  too!  Lewis  claims  you're  a  wonder.  I 
doubt  it  like  blazes,  but,  if  you  are,  now's  the  time 
to  show  it.     Come  on,  get  up,  man!     Hurry!" 


MORE  TROUBLE  THREATENS  iii 

We  stared  at  him.  Dorothy,  paper-white,  one 
hand  at  her  breast,  asked  the  question  that  trembled 
also  on  my  lips. 

''Oh,  what's  happened?     What's  happened  now?" 

Peter  hesitated.  His  eye  caught  Somers,  leaning 
back  in  an  armchair,  calmly  lighting  a  cigarette.  He 
could  contain  himself  no  longer. 

'They're  going  to  lynch  Parker  to-night!"  He 
blurted  his  news  defiantly,  as  if  it  had  been  a  bomb 
to  shatter  our  guest's  indifference.  "I  just  heard 
it  downtowm.  A  lot  of  'em  are  drinking;  they've 
taken  the  keys  away  from  Wakefield  already;  they're 
going  down  to  the  lockup  and  get  poor  old  Parker 
and  hang  himl'* 


CHAPTER  XI 

PREPARATIONS    FOR    DEFENSE 

DOCTOR  SOMERS  arose  slowly,  his  long,  thin 
arms  and  legs  looking  more  frail,  more  tenuous, 
than  usual.  One  feared  that  they  would  snap,  like 
pipe  stems,  under  the  slightest  strain.  He  did  not 
look  in  the  least  like  the  man  to  brave  the  fury  of  a 
mob;  but  his  dark,  saturnine  face  was  quite  un- 
moved. 

"Bright  lad!"  he  exclaimed,  sarcastically.  ''Go 
ahead;  frighten  the  girl  to  death,  why  don't  you?^' 
He  patted  Dorothy's  arm  with  unexpected  gentle- 
ness. "Now  don't  you  worry,  child;  we'll  look  after 
your  young  man  for  you.  Nobody's  going  to  be 
lynched  to-night!" 

He  beckoned  us  out,  and  in  the  hall  he  asked 
Peter  if  he  had  a  shotgun. 

The  boy  nodded.  "I'll  get  it,"  he  said,  and  ran  up 
the  stairs. 

Presently  he  was  back,  panting,  with  a  repeating 
shotgun  and  an  automatic  pistol.  "Lucky  I  had  two 
guns,"  said  he,  stuffing  a  box  of  shells  into  his 
pocket.  "The  coroner  took  the  other  one.  And  here, 
Somers,  here's  an  army  pistol  and  some  cartridges." 
Peter  had  been  a  second  lieutenant. 

Somers  waved  it  aside.  "Don't  want  it.  Give 
it  to  Uhlman,  here.  I  don't  think  we'll  need  fire- 
arms, but  it's  well  to  be  prepared.     Now  let's  go!" 


i>' 


>J 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  DEFENSE  113 

My  nephew's  car  still  stood  in  front  of  the  house; 
we  piled  in  and  drove  toward  Main  Street. 

''I  take  it  your  constable  won't  be  much  help," 
said  Somers,  *'if  they've  taken  his  keys  so  easily." 

Peter  snorted.     "A  big  yellow  pup!" 

''Right!  We  won't  bother  him.  Stop  at  this 
grocery.     Who  keeps  it,  by  the  way?' 

''Old  Mrs.  Tracy.     But  it's  closed. 

"So  much  the  better.  Kept  by  an  old  woman,  you 
say;  any  man  or  boy  in  it?" 

"No,"  answered  Peter,  wondering.  "She's  all 
alone,  and  deaf  and  half  blind  into  the  bargain. 
People  only  trade  there  for  charity." 

"Fine!"  declared  Doctor  Somers  surprisingly. 
"Couldn't  be  better!"  He  twisted  his  long  legs  out 
of  the  car.  "As  we  came  through  from  the  train  I 
noticed  a  lot  of  eggplant  in  the  window." 

"Now,  what  the  deuce " 

But  Somers  did  not  stop  for  questions.  Already 
he  had  skirted  the  tiny  shop  and  was  knocking  at  its 
back  door.  When  no  answer  came,  he  opened  it  and 
walked  in.  We  heard  the  confused  noise  of  his 
shouting  at  poor  old  Mrs.  Tracy;  presently  he  came 
back  to  the  car  with  a  grape  basket  under  one  arm. 

"What  kind  of  fooHshness  is  this?"  demanded 
Peter,  craning  his  neck.  The  basket  was  full  of 
round,  purplish  eggplant,  a  little  bigger  than  a  base- 
ball. "Man,  can't  you  understand  that  Lewis 
Parker  is  in  danger  of  his  life?" 

"I  can,"  replied  Somers,  unruffled.  "Better  than 
you  do,  perhaps.  Pve  seen  two  lynching  mobs  be- 
fore.   Now  don't  ask  fool  questions,  but  come  along." 


114  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

He  obeyed,  blindly  obedient.  The  man's  prepara- 
tions seemed  sufficiently  absurd,  but  he  seemed,  at 
least,  to  know  what  he  w^as  doing,  and  neither  of  us 
had  an  idea  of  the  proper  steps  to  take. 

*'Now  a  book  shop,"  ordered  our  leader.  "Sta- 
tionery store — something  like  that.  I  want  some 
writing  paper." 

Without  protest  Peter  drove  across  the  way  to 
Jack  Wheat's.  Somers  entered;  through  the  win- 
dow we  watched  him  selecting  stationery  as  calmly 
as  if  the  whole  night  were  before  him.  At  last  he 
came  out,  a  package  under  his  arm  that  might  have 
held  two  hundred  sheets  of  note  paper  with  envelopes 
to  match. 

"They'll  have  to  do,"  he  remarked  disparagingly. 
"Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry!"  He  glanced  at  his  wrist 
w^atch,  as  Peter  mumbled  some  protest.  "They  won't 
start  anything  before  the  town's  safely  gone  to  bed. 
Not  until  midnight,  anyhow,  I  fancy.  McGregor, 
you  drive  us  round  to  the  lockup  and  leave  us  there. 
Then  take  the  car  and  hunt  up  a  phone,  where  you 
won't  be  interrupted.  Try  to  find  the  sheriff — he's  a 
good  sort  of  officer,  I  judge  from  what  you've  said 
— and  tell  him  there's  going  to  be  trouble  to-night. 
Then  come  back  to  the  jail." 

Peter  protested  unavailingly.  The  mob  might 
come  before  he  got  back;  Uncle  George  could  go; 
Somers  could  go.  He,  Peter,  ought  to  be  here  to 
protect  Lewis. 

"Shut  up  and  get  out!  Uhlman  can't  go;  he  can't 
drive — can  you?  And  I  can't  go;  I'm  a  stranger. 
But  you  can  find  a  phone,  and  the  sherifif'll  listen  to 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  DEFENSE  115 

you.  Besides,  I  can  do  more  here  than  you  could. 
Hurry  now;  you'll  be  back  in  plenty  of  time  for 
the  excitement." 

Reluctantly  Peter  went,  after  leaving  Doctor 
Somers  and  me  in  front  of  the  lockup.  The  doctor 
looked  about  approvingly.  The  lockup  stood  a  little 
apart  from  the  buildings  about  it,  a  tobacco  ware- 
house on  one  side  and  an  empty  dwelling  house  on 
the  other.  He  walked  completely  around  the  ugly 
brick  jail,  tried  its  barred  windows  with  satisfaction. 

'Tine,"  he  announced.  "Clear  space  all  around, 
if  it  came  to  a  siege.  And  the  windows  are  small 
and  well  barred;  nobody  can  get  in  except  through 
the  door.     Which  is  Parker's  window?" 

I  told  him,  and  he  went  there  and  whistled. 
"Hello,  Parker!  It's  Somers.  How's  the  old  doc, 
anyway  ?  Good !  Be  in  to  see  you  to-morrow ; 
can't  get  hold  of  the  keys  just  now." 

He  came  around  to  the  front  again  and  looked 
up  at  the  arc  light  in  the  street.  "Fine!"  he  re- 
peated. "There's  an  excellent  light — good  enough  to 
read  by." 

Whereon  he  sat  himself  down  upon  the  wide  jail 
steps,  placed  his  basket  of  eggplant  in  the  shadow 
beside  him,  and  unwrapped  that  package  of  note 
paper.  "Make  yourself  comfortable,  Uhlman,"  said 
he.     "I'm  going  to  be  busy  for  a  vv'hile." 

He  produced  a  fountain  pen  and  fell  to  waiting, 
while  I  watched  him  in  amazement.  What  on  earth 
was  he  doing?  Writing  notices  to  post  on  the  jail 
door,  to  warn  off  the  mob?     I  could  not  imagine. 

But  there  he  sat,  writing  busily  in  a  fine,  copper- 


ii6  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

plate  script,  hunched  on  the  step,  with  his  extraor- 
dinary legs  coiled  under  him,  his  dark,  sallow  face 
calmly  intent.  The  light  from  the  street  lamp  cast 
the  shadow  of  his  thin,  hooked  nose  downward  over 
his  chin  and  gave  him  the  look  of  a  fierce,  long- 
legged  bird. 

At  last  Peter  drove  up.  ''Couldn't  get  him,"  he 
said,  guardedly,  his  voice  bitter  with  disappoint- 
ment. "Gone  over  to  the  other  end  of  the  county 
after  some  negro.  And  the  jail  deputy's  got  his 
hands  full  looking  after  the  prisoners.  He'll  send 
somebody  over  later,  if  he  can.  By  then  it'll  be  too 
late !" 

Somers  looked  up,  quite  undisturbed.  "We  don't 
need  anybody,"  he  answered  indifferently.  "Go  park 
that  flivver  out  of  sight  and  come  back  on  foot." 

When  that  was  done,  he  stationed  Peter  with  his 
pistol  at  one  corner  of  the  building,  and  me  at  the 
other,  with  the  shotgun.  I  had  asked  for  this  weapon 
as  being  less  likely  to  damage  me,  and  more  likely,  in 
my  hands,  at  least,  of  doing  execution  among  the 
enemy  than  an  automatic  pistol,  whose  workings  were 
strange  to  me.  Then  he  returned  to  the  steps,  took 
up  his  fountain  pen  and  fell  to  writing  again. 

And  so  began  a  vigil  which  seemed  endless. 
Though  the  day  had  been  hot,  the  night  was  cool, 
as  our  Southern  nights  usually  are.  A  little  breeze 
played  about  the  corners  of  the  jail,  sending  sharp 
twinges  through  my  poor  old  joints;  I  shivered  with 
cold  and  nervousness.  I  could  hear  Peter's  feet  shuf- 
fling in  the  sand,  and  I  knew  that  he,  too,  was  rest- 
less.     But    between    us    Doctor    Somers    sat    on    the 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  DEx-ENSE  117 

steps,  hunched  over  his  writing,  and  he  did  not  even 
look  up.  His  pen  traveled  rapidly,  held  in  a  hand 
as  steady  as  a  rock;  he  wrote  note  after  note,  all 
just  alike  apparently,  and,  as  he  finished  each  one, 
folded  it  methodically  and  tucked  it  into  a  Ijlank 
envelope.  His  calm,  untroubled  face  was  bent  studi- 
ously over  his  work,  and  he  never  shifted  his  posi- 
tion; we  heard  no  sound  from  him  save  the  steady 
scratching  of  his  pen,  the  rustling  of  paper,  as  he 
folded  one  note  and  took  up  another  sheet.  For 
some  reason,  it  was  an  eerie  sight.  I  began  to  have 
more  respect  for  Doctor  Floyd  Somers.  He  was 
brave,  at  any  rate. 


CHAPTER  Xir 

A   FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING 

THE  night  seemed  interminable.  The  faint  eve- 
ning sounds  from  Main  Street,  a  block  away, 
faded  gradually  and  ceased.  One  after  another  bug- 
gies and  farm  wagons  creaked  away;  motor  cars 
roared  suddenly  into  life  and  departed  in  a  diminu- 
endo of  explosions,  or  hummed  off  into  the  night; 
we  heard  an  occasional  outburst  of  laughter,  evoked 
by  the  repartee  bawled  across  a  block,  and  at  last 
all  was  still. 

I  looked  at  my  watch;  almost  midnight!  Pine- 
lands  had  gone  to  sleep — or  had  it?  Soon,  if  at  all, 
they  would  be  coming.  The  faint  breeze  began  to 
carry  mysterious  whispers;  in  it  I  fancied  hushed 
commands,  threats,  the  stealthy  creeping  of  feet 
over  the  sand.  My  nerves  tensed  and  tensed;  the 
fluttering  of  moths  about  the  arc  lamp  fretted  me 
to  distraction.  A  huge  June  bug  blundered  full  tilt 
against  its  globe  and  ricocheted  off;  the  sound  seemed 
thunderous,  so  that  I  jumped,  barely  suppressing  a 
cry. 

And  always  Floyd  Somers  sat  there  on  the  step, 
long  legs  curled  grotesquely  under  him,  and  wrote 
and  wrote.  I  wanted  to  cry  out  at  him,  to  grip  him 
b}'  the  shoulder  and  shriek  in  his  ear  that  a  mob 
was  coming;  that  murder  crept,  stealthy- footed, 
toward   us   through   the   still   summer   night.      Any- 


A  FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING  119 

thing  to  rouse  him  to  a  human  excitement;  to  wipe 
that  impassive,  studious  absorption  from  his  lean, 
sallow   face. 

Wearily  I  shifted  my  feet,  wondering  whether 
Lewis  was  asleep.  His  bunk  was  in  the  cage,  three 
feet  inside  the  window ;  he  could  not  look  out  for  the 
bars.  I  listened  intently  for  his  breathing.  Did  he 
suspect,  I  wondered?  Did  he  lie  there  awake,  help- 
less, waiting  for  the  mob  to  drag  him  forth  to  a 
shameful  death?  And  suddenly  I  remembered,  with 
a  queer  twinge  of  shame,  that  we  had  forgotten  to 
bring  him  bed  linen.  It  was  a  foolish  thought,  of 
course,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  distressed  me. 
Suppose  that  we  failed — that  the  mob  had  its  way 
after  all.  Should  I  ever  be  able  to  forgive  myself 
that  Lewis  had  been  without  clean  sheets  during  his 
last  night  on  earth? 

Then  I  fell  to  worrying  about  Dorothy.  Poor 
child!  If  this  vigil  was  terrible  to  me,  waiting,  shot- 
gun in  hand,  for  an  attack,  what  must  it  be  to  her? 
She  waited  there  in  that  grim,  ghost-haunted  pile, 
beneath  whose  very  windows  a  man  had  died  hor- 
ribly, only  yesterday;  with  no  company  save  that 
stupid  nurse,  asleep  long  ago,  no  doubt,  and  Aunt 
Mary  McGregor,  who  could  think  of  nothing  but  her 
own  troubles.  She  could  not  know  what  was  hap- 
pening here;  had  no  way  of  learning  until  we  should 
come  home.  In  her  imagination,  no  doubt,  Lewis 
was  dying  a  hundred  deaths,  and  she  with  him.  For 
it  is  terrible,  worse  than  death,  I  think,  to  wait  help- 
lessly while  a  loved  one  is  in  peril. 

I  groaned  aloud.     Would  they  never  come?     Sud- 


I20  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

denly  I  was  impatient  for  the  test;  I  would  have 
w^elcomed  a  physical  attack,  anything  to  get  it  over 
and  be  at  rest:  anvthins:  but  this  dreadful  tension 
of  waiting!  I  strained  my  ears  anew,  but  I  heard 
only  the  faint  scratching  of  Somers'  tireless  pen. 

Suddenly  it  came.  A  distant  oath,  an  abrupt  out- 
break of  raucous,  obscene  song,  as  abruptly  cut  off, 
the  sound  of  a  blow !  The  confused  tramp  of  many 
feet  thudded  in  the  muffling  sand  and  approached  in- 
exorably, with  a  strange,  broken  rh3rthm. 

Somers  lifted  his  head  alertly;  the  uncertain  light 
fell  across  it,  and  his  deep-set  eyes  and  thin,  hooked 
nose  seemed  oddly  fierce. 

''Quiet,  now,  you  men!"  he  ordered.  ''Keep  back; 
don't  show  yourselves  unless  I  call." 

He  went  on  writing  with  a  steady  hand. 

Craning  my  neck  around  the  corner  of  the  jail, 
I  made  out  a  clump  of  moving  shadows.  Some  one 
stumbled  and  swore  aloud,  drunkenly.  Then,  with 
startling  abruptness,  the  crowd  debouched  into  the 
arc  lamp's  circle  of  light. 

They  moved  with  ominous  deliberation  in  a  sort 
of  rude  marching  order,  four  abreast.  Handker- 
chiefs, blue,  red,  and  black,  were  tied  across  each 
face  below  the  eyes,  making  the  marchers  unrecog- 
nizable. These  were  my  own  neighbors;  unmasked, 
I  could  have  recognized  almost  every  face,  no  doubt. 
But  seen  thus  they  were  fearsome  shapes,  uncanny, 
inhuman,  and  I  shivered  and  quailed  before  them. 
One  burly  fellow  in  the  first  rank  carried  a  coil  of 
rope.  Fascinated,  I  saw  how  it  sw^ung  carelessly  at 
his   side,   and  I   noted   its   fresh,  yellow  color.      My 


A  FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING  121 

nephew  was  honored,  I  thought  hysterically;  they 
had  bought  a  new  rope  for  his  hanging! 

The  straggling  column  advanced ;  its  head  wheeled 
straight  toward  the  jail.  Then  the  marchers  caught 
sight  of  Doctor  Somers'  quiet  figure,  crouched  there 
on  the  steps,  still  writing  busily.  They  halted  sud- 
denly, confused,  and  suspicious  of  this  strange  guard. 
They  scented  a  trap,  as  mobs  will;  surely  this  fellow 
would  not  be  sitting  there  so  calmly  unless  he  knew 
that  the  jail  was  well  protected! 

There  was  some  jostling,  and  the  column  broke 
its  formation.  Men  pushed  forward  from  the  rear 
until  they  formed  a  rough  semicircle  at  a  respectful 
distance.  The  tall  man  who  bore  that  sinister  rope 
stepped  forward  a  little. 

And  then,  and  not  till  then,  Floyd  Somers  laid  his 
writing  precisely  by  and  rose  upon  those  slender, 
stiltlike  legs,  looking  rather  like  a  steel  windmill 
tower,  I  reflected  absurdly. 

''Good  evening,  gentlemen."  His  voice  was  per- 
fectly unruffled  and  casual.  "A  fine,  cool  night  for 
a  walk!" 

A  little,  incredulous  gasp  ran  through  the  silent 
crowd,  followed  bv  an  ominous  mutter.  Was  this 
fellow  making  game  of  them? 

"EveninV'  replied  the  rope  bearer  gruffly.  "What 
yuh  doin'  here?" 

Somers  yawned  and  smiled  that  sudden,  disarm- 
ing smile,  that  could  so  change  his  saturnine  features. 
'AVhy,  writing  a  letter  to  my  best  girl,  as  you  can 
see."     He  gestured  toward  the  heap  of  notes. 

''Huh?"  asked  the  crowd's  spokesman.     He  seemed 


122  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

bewildered,  yet  confident.  "What's  the  feller  doin' 
here?"  I  could  fancy  him  thinking.  "Somethin' 
funny!     Well,  we'll  find  out — got  lots  of  time!" 

"Huh?"  Above  his  red  bandanna  his  eyes  glinted 
at  the  heap  of  envelopes.  "Writin'  a  whole  lot  o* 
letters,  seems  t'  me!" 

"Why,"  replied  Somers  blithely,  "that's  because 
I've  got  a  whole  lot  of  best  girls!" 

The  jest  was  feeble  enough,  but  it  caught  the 
fancy  of  the  crowd.  A  gust  of  laughter  ran  about 
the  semicircle,  and  its  tension  relaxed  visibly.  The 
humor  of  the  mob  seemed  less  silently  savage  than 
before.  "No  wonder !"  exclaimed  some  one.  "Fine, 
fat  feller  like  you  oughta  have  plenty  o'  girls !" 

"I  have."  Somers'  burlesque  of  satisfied  vanity 
was  irresistibly  comic.  "Anything  I  can  do  for  you, 
gentlemen?     I've  got  six  or  eight  more  to  write,  you 


see." 


'Sure  is!"  The  spokesman  stepped  forward  again, 
swinging  his  rope  menacingly.  This  skinny  stranger 
needn't  think  he  could  play  horse  with  them,  his 
gesture  said  grimly.  "Run  along,  sonny,  an'  write 
yore  letters  some'rs  else.  We-all  got  bus'ness  in 
that  there  jail,  see?" 

"So?  Well,  there's  no  hurry,  is  there?  You've 
got  all  night  before  you.  Suppose  we  talk  about  that 
a  while?" 

The  other  scratched  a  perplexed  head,  tilting  his 
wide-brimmed  hat  forward.  Plainly  he  did  not  know 
w^hat  to  make  of  this  imperturbable  stranger.  After 
an  instant's  hesitation  he  decided  to  humor  him. 

"We-ell,   we   got  plenty  time,   sure   enough!"   he 


A  FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING  123 

declared.  "Ain't  nobody  goin'  t'  stop  us.  We're 
after  that  skunk  inside,  stranger — that  feller  Lewis 
Parker,  what  murdered  Doc  Gaskell  yestiddy  morn- 
in'." 

The  mob  took  a  step  forward,  growling  assent. 
The  words  seemed  to  have  rekindled  its   fury. 

"Murdered  Doctor  Gaskell?"  asked  Somers  coolly. 
"How  come?" 

The  crow'd's  spokesman  snorted.  "Nev'  you  mind 
how  come!  He  done  it,  an'  'at's  enough.  Git  outa 
th'  way  now,  sonny,  an'  let  us  in!" 

Somers  held  his  place.     "The  door's  locked." 

Again  the  crowd  laughed;  this  time  raucously, 
hatefully. 

"Oh,"  jeeringly  exclaimed  one,  swaying  on  wide- 
set  feet,  "Rufe  Wakefield  ain't  such  a  big  fool  as 
some  fellers.  He  didn't  make  no  trouble  about  th' 
key  w'en  we-all  come  after  it — ner  you  won't  make 
no  trouble,  neither,  w'en  w^e-all  gits  ready  t'  use  it!" 

A  chorus  of  drunken  agreement  broke  out.  "  'At's 
right,  Charhe!  Give  it  to  'im.  C'm'  on,  fellers, 
smash  'im!"  It  w^as  plain  that  many  in  the  crowd 
had  found  means  of  circumventing  the  Eighteenth 
Amendment. 

"Shut  up!  Who's  runnin'  this,  huh?"  It  was  the 
leader,  jealous  of  his  authority,  and  the  noise  sul> 
sided. 

"Didn't  mean  nothing,  R-rappy,  ol'  boy,"  replied 
the  disturber. 

"Shut  up!  Ain't  yuh  got  no  sense  atall,  slingin' 
names  around  that  a  way?"  He  faced  Somers  again. 
"We-all  got  th'   key,   all  right,"  he  continued,   "an' 


124  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

we  aim  t'  use  it,  see?  Right  way  now — d'rectly! 
Yuh  better  git  outa  th'  way,  afore  th'  fireworks 
begins!" 

'*One  moment!  Listen,  you  men,"  Somers'  voice 
was  really  eloquent.  "You're  going  to  do  a  great 
injustice.  Parker  is  innocent!  He  didn't  shoot  Doc- 
tor Gaskell — the  man  was  dead  before  he  got  out 
there  at  all — dead  and  cold!  Let  the  law  take  its 
course,  boys.  Parker's  here  in  jail ;  he  can't  get 
away.  He'll  be  tried,  and,  if  he's  guilty  he'll  be  con- 
victed and  punished.  You  don't  want  to  hang  an 
innocent  man,  do  you?  I  tell  you  Gaskell  was  dead 
and  cold  before  Parker  came  out  at  all!" 

An  outburst  of  jeers  and  hisses  cut  him  short. 
The  crowd  would  not  listen  to  any  further  inter- 
ference with  its  proposed  pleasures.  But  the  tall 
spokesman  commanded  silence.     He  seemed  shaken. 

"Shut  up!  Shut  up!"  With  paralyzing  sudden- 
ness he  produced  a  huge  revolver,  and  the  angry 
cries  of  the  mob  died  away.  "That's  better !  T 
ask  you-all  ag'in,  who's  runnin'  this  here  lynchin'  ? 
Any  more  cracks,  an'  somebody's  gointa  git  hurted 
bad.  Now,  stranger,  what's  that  yuh  say,  Gaskell 
was  daid  afore  Parker  come  out?" 

"Dead  and  cold!"  repeated  Somers.  "Mr.  Uhlman 
touched  his  chest  two  minutes  after  Parker  shot,  and 
he  was  cold  then." 

"Who?" 

"Mr.  Uhlman — George  Uhlman." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  jeers  and  howls.  "Uhlman, 
ol'  Uncle  Gawge,  huh?    His  own  uncle!    Likely  he'd 


A  FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING  125 

claim  Parker  shot  'im!     Wh}'  didn't  he  tell  all  this 
to  th'  inquest,  huh?     Big,  hshy  yarn — fake — fake!" 

Despite  their  leader's  gesture,  the  mob  surged  for- 
ward; they  would  no  longer  be  balked  of  their 
quarry.  Above  the  clamor,  the  man  who  had  boasted 
of  taking  the  jail  keys  from  Rufe  Wakefield,  howled 
shrilly :  *'C'm'  on,  fellers !  Let's  git  'im  out.  Skinny's 
jus'  tryin'  t'  hold  us  an'  argue  till  ol'  Redden  gits 
here.     Cm'  on!     Git  'im  afore  th'  sheriff  comes!" 

Emitting  wild  yells  to  work  its  courage  up,  after 
the  manner  of  mobs,  the  throng  pressed  on.  It  was 
touch  and  go;  they  were  almost  upon  the  defenseless 
Somers.  Without  awaiting  Somers'  call,  Peter  Mc- 
Gregor and  I  turned  the  jail  corners  almost  together 
and  ran  forward  to  take  up  our  stations  on  either 
side  of  the  steps. 

Somers  scowled  at  us.  "Why  didn't  you  keep 
back?"  he  demanded.     "I  don't  need  you." 

None  the  less,  our  sudden  eruption  checked  the 
mob.  They  hung  back  from  Peter's  menacing  pistol 
and  eyed  dubiously  the  shotgun,  which  I  held  at  the 
ready. 

"Say  when,  doc !"  invited  Peter  grimly.  He  leveled 
his  automatic  at  the  mob's  tall  leader  and  slipped  its 
safety  catch. 

"Keep  quiet!"  Somers  was  rather  ungracious,  I 
thought,  seeing  that  we  had  infallibly  saved  him,  all 
unarmed  as  he  was,  from  a  severe  beating  at  least. 
But  now,  without  more  words,  he  stooped,  extend- 
ing an  arm  incredibly  long  and  bony,  and  lifted  his 
grape  basket  of  eggplant  from  the  dark  corner  where 
it  had  sat. 


126  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

He  laid  it  very  carefully  down  on  the  step  beside 
him,  selected  one  of  the  dark-purple  vegetables  and 
held  it  up. 

*'Did  any  of  you  boys  get  overseas?"  he  inquired 
conversationally. 

The  wondering  mob  gaped  inquiringly. 

"Good  boy!  Oh,  good  boy!"  declared  Peter  from 
his  side  of  the  steps,  as  he  chuckled  triumphantly. 

I  was  less  acute,  but  some  of  the  men  facing  us 
must  have  understood  Somers'  meaning,  for  I  noted 
that  hats  moved  uneasily,  as  their  wearers  shrank 
back  into  the  crowd. 

"I  gather  that  some  of  you  got  to  France,"  went 
on  Somers,  quite  unperturbed.  "You  see  what  Pm 
holding,  don't  you?  Suppose  you  tell  these  other 
chaps  what  will  happen,  five  seconds  after  I  pull  the 
pin?" 

The  crowd  had  frozen  into  a  sudden,  awed  silence. 
"Keep  back,  you  fool!"  came  an  agonized  whisper. 
"Quit  shovin'!     Want  us  all  blowed  to  blazes?" 

"Just  got  into  your  beautiful  city  this  evening," 
remarked  Doctor  Somers  affably.  "Stopped  off  at 
Camp  Sheridan  on  the  way."  This  was  the  can- 
tonment nearest  to  Pinelands.  "Pve  a  friend  there 
in  the  ordnance  department;  he  lent  me  these  little 
tricks,  just  in  case  of — of  anything  like  this.  Now 
don't  crowd,  boys,  please  don't!  I  promised  Pd 
bring  'em  all  back  safely,  and  Pd  just  hate  to  spoil 
one." 

Aw,    quit    it!"    came   the   same    hoarse   whisper. 
Rush  'im,  huh?     Nix!     H  it  was  a  machine  gun, 
mebbe;   but   I   don't   aim   t'    go   to   glory   in   pieces. 


it 


A  FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING  127 

Kossir!  Huh?  'At's  a  hand  grenade,  feller — a 
Mills  bomb!  G'wan,  start  soniethin',  'f  you  want, 
an'  git  all  messed  up.     Me,  I'm  goin'  home!" 

And  straightway  one  masked  figure  detached  itself 
and  marched  briskly  away,  untieing  his  handkerchief 
and  stuffing  it  into  a  pocket  as  he  went.  There  was 
a  general  movement  to  follow.  The  tall  leader 
dropped  his  coiled  rope  and  pushed  his  hat  far  back. 
"What's  th'  use!  I  give  up,  stranger;  you  got  us 
buffaloed.  Ain't  a-goin'  to  be  no  lynchin'  to-night. 
But,  if  it  hadn't  of  been  f'r  them  bombs '* 

In  token  of  amity,  he  untied  the  red  bandanna, 
which  masked  him,  and  bared  the  lean,  stubbly  face 
and  piratical  mustache  of  Ralph  Satterfield.  *'Un- 
cover,  boys,"  he  said.  "Them  masks  is  uncomf'table, 
an'  we  ain't  a-goin'  t'  break  no  laws,  so  they  ain't 
needed  no  more." 

Most  of  the  crowd  followed  his  example,  but 
some  effaced  themselves,  evidently  ashamed  of  being 
identified  in  such  company  and  upon  such  an  errand. 
Those  who  remained  crowded  forward,  so  that  Peter 
and  I  raised  our  weapons,  fearing  an  attack;  but 
Satterfield  waved  them  aside. 

"Put  by  yore  shootin'  irons,"  he  said  to  us,  alco- 
holically  generous.  "We  ain't  a-goin'  to  start  nothin'. 
I  give  my  word,  didn't  I?" 

I  hesitated,  but  Somers  frowned  me  into  compli- 
ance. The  mob  leader  advanced.  "You  got  us  beat, 
stranger.  I'd  like  t'  shake  you  by  th'  hand,  sir.  Ain't 
a-many  has  bested  Ralph  Satterfield  this  a  way!" 

Laying  his  vegetable  bomb  carefully  aside,  the 
doctor  came  down  the  steps  quite  fearlessly,  one  lean 


128  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

arm  extended;  and  presently  his  slender  hand  was 
engulfed  in  the  bootlegger's  huge  grip. 

"Good  feller!"  declared  Satterfield.  "Friend  o' 
mine,  yuh  hear,  boys?     Have  a  drink,  stranger?" 

He  fumbled  at  a  hip  pocket,  hiccoughing.  Evi- 
dently he  had  given  his  own  goods  the  testimonial 
of  personal  use. 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Doctor  Somers  blandly. 
"Just  a  swallow  to  our  friendship."  He  tilted  the 
bottle  expertly,  but  I  noted  that  he  did  not  drink. 
"And  now,  gentlemen,  this  lynching  foolishness  is  all 
over,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir!  Oh,  yes,  sir!  Shore,  stranger!"  de- 
clared the  crowd  genially. 

"Fine!"  Somers  took  the  bootlegger's  hand  again. 
"I'll  depend  on  you,  Mr. — Satterfield,  isn't  it?  You'll 
guard  my  friend,  Parker,  and  keep  him  safe  for  us, 
for  his  sweetheart  and  his  uncle,  won't  you?" 

I  caught  my  breath  at  the  colossal  impudence  of 
this  proposal ;  that  the  mob,  which  had  come  to  lynch 
Lewis,  should  protect  him  against  the  possible  attack 
of  others.  But  Somers  had  gauged  the  spirit  of  the 
crowd  better  than  I ;  he  was  a  profound  psychologist. 

Satterfield  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  which 
ended  in  a  tremendous  hiccough;  he  staggered  about 
and  pounded  his  thighs  in  an  ecstasy  of  mirth.  "By 
gum,  man,"  he  exclaimed,  "you're  a  wonder — a 
wonder!  Any  man's  got  nerve  like  that,  I'm  for 
him.  Yes,  sir!  'S  aw  right,  stranger,  's  aw  right. 
Here!" 

In  token  of  good  faith  he  plunged  a  hairy  hand 
into  his  pocket  and  brought  forth  a  big  key.    "Here's 


A  FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING  129 

th'  jail  key,  sir;  you  keep  it.  Give  it  back  t'  Rufe, 
'f  yuh  wanta.  Parker's  safe;  I  give  yuh  my  word, 
sir."  And  he  shook  hands  all  over  again,  growing 
mellower  and  mellower,  as  his  last  drink  warmed 
him.  "Ain't  nobody  a-goin'  t'  touch  'im  now.  You 
hear  me,  boys!"  he  said  to  the  crowd  at  his  back. 
^'Nobody  don't  touch  Doc  Parker,  or  bother  'im,  un- 
less'n  they  hankers  t'  meet  up  'ith  me,  Satterfield !" 

He  turned  back  again  to  Somers.  "S-sass'fied?"  he 
inquired  gravely.  "Me  an'  a  coupla  other  fellers'U 
stay  an'  keep  watch  if  yuh  say  so." 

Somers  laughed  at  that,  and  clapped  the  other's 
back.  "You're  a  fine  chap,  Mr.  Satterfield,  sir!  I'm 
proud  to  be  a  friend  of  yours."  Pie  bowed,  and 
Satterfield  bowed  also,  with  surprising  dignity  and 
grace,  but  he  marred  the  effect  by  stumbling  and 
catching  at  my  shoulder  for  support. 

"And,  sir — and  you  boys,  too,"  Somers  went  on, 
grinning,  "now  that  we're  all  good  friends " 

"Sure!  Sure!  O'  course  we  are — fr'en's  f'r  life!" 
roared  the  mob.  It  was  amazing  how  he  had  won 
their  admiration. 

"Well  then,  gentlemen,  I'll  let  you  all  into  a  little 
joke,"  he  finished.  "Come  up  here,  closer!  Look 
at  my  bombs !" 

He  reached  down  and  picked  up  his  basket  and 
displayed  its  contents  to  the  men  who  crowded  about. 

To  my  mind  it  was  a  hazardous  experiment.  But 
again  Somers  had  gauged  the  spirit  of  the  crovvd 
very  exactly.  Ten  minutes  earlier,  perhaps,  his 
revelation  would  have  been  fatal;  but  now  the  mob 


130         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

spirit  was  gone.  We  were  no  longer  faced  by  an 
irresponsible  mob,  rendered  careless  of  consequences 
by  numbers  and  the  consciousness  of  anonymity. 
Now  it  was  a  group  of  known  friends  and  neighbors, 
who  stood  about  us,  whose  unmasking  had  left  each 
an  individual  responsible  for  his  own  conduct.  Each 
thought  for  himself  and  of  himself;  the  unreasoning 
brutality  of  the  mob  was  gone. 

Doctor  Somers'  revelation  was  greeted  with  howls 
of  mirth.  This  was  a  joke,  a  stupendous  joke,  ro- 
bust, and  not  too  subtle,  which  should  be  told  against 
these  men  for  years  to  come;  how  Ralph  Satterfield 
and  Charlie  Bates  and  "Hank"  Conover  and  fifty 
others  had  been  cowed  and  intimidated  by  a  dozen 
innocuous  eggplants  in  the  hands  of  one  lone  man! 
The  crowd  yelled  with  laughter,  Satterfield  louder 
than  any;  they  pounded  each  other's  backs,  leaned  on 
each  other's  shoulders,  lay  down  in  the  sand  and 
shrieked.  Satterfield's  illicit  liquor  had  some  part  in 
it,  no  doubt;  none  the  less  it  was  hearty,  honest 
laughter,  so  contagious  that  Peter  and  I,  and  even 
Doctor  Somers,  were  forced  to  join — so  friendly  and 
jolly  and  carefree  that  no  hearer  could  doubt  its 
quality.  Indeed  Rufe  Wakefield,  the  gigantic  con- 
stable, came  round  the  corner  presently — he  had  been 
waiting  there  in  fear  and  trembling,  perhaps,  all  eve- 
ning, for  what  might  happen  at  the  jail — and  strode 
boldly  into  our  midst,  convinced  that  all  danger  was 
over. 

"Here,  here,  you  fellers!''  he  exclaimed  in  his 
great,  bullying  roar.     "Quit  it,  now!    You-all  better 


A  FRUSTRATED  LYNCHING  131 

git  outa  here  an'  go   home   t'   bed;  yo're  disturbin' 
th'  peace!" 

And  so  peaceable  had  their  humor  become  that  the 
crowd  dispersed  forthwith,  still  shaken  with  laughter 
and  scuffling  amiably  for  eggplants,  to  preserve  as 
souvenirs  of  the  occasion. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


"a  little  relaxation'* 


SOMERS  watched  them  out  of  sight.  Then  he 
turned  and  opened  the  jail  door  with  the  key 
Satterfield  had  given  him.  Over  his  shoulder  he 
asked : 

"That  the  constable,  McGregor?  Call  him  back, 
will  you?" 

When  Rufe  had  strolled  pompously  back,  puffed 
w^ith  pride  at  his  success  in  scattering  the  crowd, 
Somers  surveyed  him  with  distaste.  Over  one  lank 
shoulder,  he  remarked  acidly :  ''You're  a  fine  cop ! 
Stick  around,  now.  You're  quite  safe;  the  danger's 
all  over,  no  thanks  to  you !  Stay  there  till  we  come 
out;  then  Til  give  you  the  jail  key." 

"And  who  are  you,  feller,  that  talks  so  biggety?'" 
demanded  Rufe. 

Somers  ignored  him  and  stalked  into  the  dark 
lockup.  "Come  on,  you  two,"  he  said.  "We'll  give 
old  Parker  a  look." 

I  hesitated;  but,  seeing  that  Rufe  had  decided  to 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  business  and  wait  to  get  his 
key  back,  I  followed  presently. 

Fumbling  for  a  switch,  Somers  turned  on  the 
lights.  My  poor  nephew  sat  in  the  steel  cage  at 
the  right,  huddled  on  the  edge  of  his  bunk,  chin  in 
hands.  His  face  was  very  white;  he  blinked  in  the 
sudden  illumination,  then  rose  and  faced  us  with 
quiet  defiance. 


"A  LITTLE  RELAXATION"  133 

"You've  come  to  lynch  me,  I  suppose,'*  he  said 
cahiily.  ''All  right!  Take  me  out,  and  let's  get  it 
over  with." 

''My  poor  boy!"  I  cried,  moved  almost  to  tears. 
If  I  had  suffered,  how  dreadful  this  waiting  must 
have  been  for  him!  "It's  all  over,  Lewis!  They've 
gone;  it's  all  right — all  right,  boy!" 

He  shaded  his  eyes.  Then,  as  they  became  used 
to  the  light :  "Why,  it's  you,  unk !  And  Peter — and 
old  Somers!  Glad  to  see  you,  Floyd,  old  top,  how 
are  you?" 

He  reached  an  unsteady  hand  through  the  bars  and 
then,  quite  suddenly,  withdrew  it  and  fell  to  sobbing. 
"I — I'm  a  fool,"  he  declared  chokingly.  "C-can't 
help  it!" 

I  snatched  the  key,  unlocked  the  inner  cage,  and 
went  in  to  him.  "There,  my  boy!  It's  all  right  now 
— all  right  now!"  I  patted  his  shoulder,  but  he 
turned  from  me  and  buried  his  face  in  the  blankets. 

"All  over,"  repeated  Somers  sagely.  "That's  what 
ails  him — reaction.  Come  along  now;  leave  him 
alone.  He'd  rather  we  went;  wouldn't  3^ou,  Parker, 
old  top?"  The  black,  rumpled  head  nodded  violently. 
"He  prefers  to  do  his  breaking  down  in  private,"  ex- 
plained Somers  softly.  "Naturally — so  do  I.  And 
between  friends,"  he  continued  aloud,  "I  could  pull 
a  couple  of  weeps  myself  on  the  very  slightest  provo- 
cation.    It's  been  rather  a  drag,  you  know!" 

I  noticed  suddenly  that  his  dark  face  was  un- 
wontedly  sallow  and  colorless.  His  lean  cheeks 
seemed  to  have  hollowed  further;  his  curiously  light 
eyes  had  receded  deep  into  their  sockets. 


134  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"Buck  up,  Parker!"  The  brusque,  indifferent 
voice  wavered,  almost  broke.  *'Be  back  in  the  morn- 
ing. 'By!"  He  herded  us  out  before  him,  leaving 
Lewis  to  a  solitude  which,  I  fancy,  was  not  unwel- 
come. Yet  it  cut  me  to  leave  the  boy  there  so  weary 
and  broken. 

Outside  Somers  locked  the  door,  then  beckoned 
Wakefield,  who  hung  uncertainly  in  the  nearer 
shadows.  "Here !  Take  your  key  and  get  out !  And 
mind" — his  fierce  hawk's  face  was  thrust  out,  his 
pale  eyes  glowed  coldly — "take  better  care  of  it 
hereafter.  If  anything  should  happen  to  your  pris- 
oner, Heaven  help  you,  that's  all!  For  I'll  take  the 
matter  up  with  you  myself."  And  the  huge,  burly 
constable  quailed  before  the  bitter  menace  of  tone 
and  gesture. 

Somers  gathered  his  bundle  of  papers  and  enve- 
lopes, rolled  it  loosely  up  and  tucked  it  under  one 
long  arm.  "Come  along,"  he  urged — almost  sullenly. 
"Let's  get  home.     Fm  tired." 

We  started  obediently.  Peter,  glowing,  took  the 
taller  man's  arm,  though  he  had  to  reach  up  to  do  it. 

"Oh,  man,  man!"  he  declared.  "You're  a  won- 
der !" 

"Let  go!"  he  answered  peevishly.     "What's  that?" 

The  man  who  had  withstood  so  nonchalantly  the 
menace  of  an  angry  mob  flinched  and  gibed  like  a 
skittish  colt  as  the  shadows  of  a  dark  hallway 
moved,  rustling. 

A  little,  trembling  voice  answered.  "It's  only  me, 
Dorothy.     Are  you — is  Lewis  safe?" 

She   came   forward  timidly,   and  now   I   saw   that 


"A  LITTLE  RELAXATION"  135 

Rosina  was  with  her,  bulkily  maternal,  one  fat  arm 
about  the  girl's  slender  waist. 

'*I — I  just  couldn't  stay  at  home,''  she  explained, 
talking  very  fast,  as  against  an  expected  rebuke. 
'*So  I  persuaded  Rosina  to  come  along,  and  started 
for  the  j-jail.     I  thought  maybe  if  I  talked  to  them, 

or    something — I — I And    anyway    I    wanted 

to  be  there  my  own  self,  if  anything  dreadful  h-hap- 
pened.     I  thought  maybe  I  could  s-save  him." 

*'Yah!"  sneered  Doctor  Somers.  "Schoolgirl 
romantics!"  His  voice  was  unpleasant;  Peter  let  go 
his  arm  abruptly. 

"I  s-suppose  so,"  replied  Dorothy  meekly.  "Any- 
way we  were  there,  right  around  the  corner.  I  came 
near  running  out,  one  time.  But  then  they  began  to 
laugh  that  way,  and  I  was  sure,  pretty  near,  that 
it  must  be  all  right.  We  were  just  starting  home 
again." 

"You  ought  to  have  had  more  sense,"  declared 
Somers  severely.  "Roaming  around  alone  at  this 
time  of  night!  Didn't  I  tell  you  Parker  was  per- 
fectly safe?  Well,  come  along.  McGregor,  where 
did  you  park  that  flivver?  Let's  get  home;  there's 
been  foolishness  enough   for  one  night." 

He  stalked  off,  and  we  followed.  Dorothy  took 
my  arm  and  squeezed  it.  "I  don't  care,"  she  whis- 
pered rebelliously.  "I  think  he's  just  mean!  Any- 
body'd  think  Lewis  belonged  to  some  other  body, 
instead  of  to  me.  Why,  I  had  to  come,  Uncle 
George;  I  1-love  him!  What  happened,  anyway?" 
Feminine  curiosity  triumphed  over  her  pique.  "W^hat 
made  them  laugh  so?" 


136  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"It  was  Somers,"  answered  Peter.  ''He's  a  won- 
der, that  man!  He  stood  'em  off  with  a  basket  of 
eggplants — made  'em  think  they  were  hand  grenades 
— bombs,  you  know.  He  bkiffed  'em  to  a  standstill. 
Oh,  he's  a  prince,  Somers  isl" 

''Yah!"  said  the  "prince,"  overhearing  this  last. 
"Don't  be  a  fool!" 

Peter  helped  Dorothy  and  Rosina  into  the  flivver's 
rear  seat,  then  clambered  after.  "Oh,  yes!"  he 
whispered  to  me.     "But,  my  word,  his  manners  are 


atrocious." 


In  silence  we  drove  back  to  Fort  House.  It  was  a 
clear,  starlit  night,  and  at  my  urging  Peter  left 
the  flivver  outside.  To  take  it  over  to  Lewis'  house, 
lock  it  in  the  garage  and  walk  back  seemed,  to  my 
weariness,  an  impossible  labor. 

We  entered  the  big  living  room,  and  Peter  snapped 
on  the  lights.  "Ho-hum !"  he  said,  as  he  yawned. 
"I'm  for  bed."  His  pistol  was  in  one  hand,  the 
shotgun  in  the  other. 

"Careful  of  that  gun,"  said  Somers.  "You'll  shoot 
somebody."  He  advanced  to  the  table  and  laid  down 
his  big  bundle  of  note  paper.  "Oh,  no,  Peter,  my 
son,"  he  went  on  amiably.  His  ill  temper  seemed 
to  have  dissipated  itself  entirely;  he  gave  us  that 
sudden,  disarming  sm^ile.  "None  of  you  are  for 
bed  yet,  except,  maybe,  Uncle  George  here."  He 
eyed  my  face,  which  was  haggard  enough,  I  suppose, 
with  compassion.  The  familiar  name  came  from 
his  lips  with  such  unaffected  kindliness  that  I 
warmed    to    him    again.      "You're    done    out,    Uncle 


"A  LITTLE  RELAXATION"  137 

George;  better  get  some  rest.     We  young  folks  can 
manage." 

I  shook  my  head.  Between  curiosity  and  stub- 
born pride,  I  was  bound  to  remain.  'T'm  not  super- 
annuated yet,"  I  told  him  tartly.  "What  are  you 
up  to  now?" 

Somers  laughed,  and  it  was  a  friendly  sound. 
"Oh,  just  a  little  relaxation  after  our  late  excite- 
ment," he  replied,  unwrapping  his  bundle.  "Peter, 
get  ink  and  some  pens.  Dorothy" — and  again 
the  first  names  came  so  naturally,  with  such  un- 
assuming intimacy,  that  we  could  not  but  be  soft- 
ened— "you  get  your  list — the  addresses  of  all  the 
people  to  whom  you  sent  invitations.  You  saved 
it,  didn't  you?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Dorothy,  wondering.  "What 
of    it?" 

Somers  smiled  at  her  rebellious  glance.  It  was 
as  if  he  had  elected  himself  a  member  of  the  family 
and  therefore  ignored  such  little  flashes  of  pettish- 
ness,  as,  I  began  to  see,  he  expected  us  to  ignore 
his  brusqueness,   his   irritability. 

"We've  got  to  address  all  these  notes,"  he  ex- 
plained, "so  they  can  be  mailed  in  the  morning.  It's 
pretty  late,  of  course,  but  I  hope  most  of  your 
guests  will  get  them  in  time.  Don't  you  see" — as 
the  girl  still  looked  at  him  blankly — "your  wedding's 
got  to  be  postponed?" 

"Oh-h!     I    f-forgot." 

A  sudden  light  struck  me.  I  stared  at  our  amaz- 
ing visitor  with  my  mouth  wide  open.  "Is  that 
what  you   wanted   the  paper   for?'" 


138  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

'*0f  course!  I've  done  a  hundred  and  four.  Bet- 
ter write  fifty  more,  to  be  safe."  He  unfolded 
a  note  and  handed  it  to  Dorothy. 

*'  'Miss  Mary  McGregor  regrets/  "  she  read,  ''  *that 
the  marriage  of  her  niece,  Dorothy  May,  must  be 
postponed  indefinitely  because  of  a  serious  accident.'  " 

''The  wording  may  not  be  exactly  right,''  Somers 
apologized.  'T  didn't  have  a  chance  to  consult  you 
about  that.  I  thought  it  was  as  well  to  make  the 
explanation    rather    vague." 

"Why,  you  wonderful  man!"  Dorothy  beamed 
on  him,  holding  his  long,  bony  hand  in  both  of 
hers.  "It's  just  perfect!  How  did  you  ever  think 
of  it?  We — we've  all  been  so  upset."  Her  lips 
quivered,  and  her  soft  eyes  filled  with  tears.  It 
was  a  dreadful  situation  for  the  poor  child;  no 
wonder  she  had   forgotten  this  detail. 

But  my  mind  was  filled  with  a  wondering  admira- 
tion for  this  lank,  bony  alienist.  He  had  seemed 
brusque,  casual,  culpably  indiiTerent  to  our  troubles ; 
yet  it  was  he  whose  ready  wit  had  saved  my 
nephew.  And  it  was  he  who,  in  the  hurry  and  ex- 
citement of  planning  a  defense  against  a  lynching 
party,  had  yet  found  time  and  forethought  to  buy 
this  note  paper  and,  while  waiting  on  the  jail  steps 
for  an  angry  mob,  had  coolly  phrased  this  unex- 
ceptionable announcement  and  had  written  it  over 
and   over,   more   than    a   hundred   times! 

I  opened  an  envelope  at  random  and  glanced  at 
the  note  which  Dorothy  still  held;  then  I  picked 
up  the  last  note,  still  unfolded  and  only  half  writ- 
ten.     All   were   done   in   the   same   fiowing,   copper- 


"A  LITTLE  RELAXATION"  139 

plate  script;  they  seemed  facsimiles,  each  of  the 
other.  Not  a  letter  was  mis  formed,  not  a  comma 
out  of  place;  ''postponed,"  the  last  word  of  the  un- 
finished  note,  was  as  carefully  written  as  any,  and 
the  pen  had  not  trembled  or  made  a  scrawl,  as  he 
laid  his  wTiting  by  to  face  the  mob.  Truly  this 
Somers  was  a  remarkable  man,  and  I  resolved  that 
hereafter  no  mannerisms  of  his  should  irritate  me. 

Dorothy  ran  upstairs,  to  return  presently  with  a 
long  list  of  names  and  addresses.  Somers  divided 
the  pile  of  envelopes,  gave  us  each  pen  and  ink,  and 
set  us  to  work  around  the  library  table. 

"Working  together  we  ought  to  be  able  to  finish 
in  two  hours,"  he  declared.  "When  does  the  morn- 
ing train  leave?  Eight-ten?  I'll  take  them  down 
and  get  them  stamped  in  time  for  that." 

Silence  fell,  broken  only  by  the  scratching  of  four 
pens. 

It  might  have  been  an  hour  later — the  hall  clock 
had  just  struck  two — when  Aliss  Christie  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  Her  eyes  were  heavy,  her  round 
face  was  flushed  with  sleep,  and  I  noted  for  the 
first  time  how  thick  and  glossy  w^as  her  fine,  fair 
hair.  She  was  muffled  to  the  chin  in  a  shapeless, 
w'oolly  bath  robe;  she  yawned,  shielding  her  mouth 
with  a  slender,  well-modeled  hand. 

"Miss  ]\IcGregor  can't  sleep,"  she  explained  In 
her  pleasant,  throaty  drawl.  "She  sent  me  out  to 
ask  if  you-all  aren't  ever  going  to  bed?"  Her 
eyes  widened  a  little;  they  were  beautiful  eyes;  and 
a  demure  sm.ile  tugged  at  her  mouth  corners.  "She 
says  nobody  thinks   about  her   any  more;  and   she 


140  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

wants  to  see  3'on,  Miss  Dorothy.  She  says  she 
just  knows  something  underhand  is  going  on  in  this 
house,  and  everybody's  trying  to  keep  it  from  her/* 
And  then,  with  a  tiash  of  curiosity  unusual  in  her, 
normally  the  most  incurious  of  women,  she  asked : 
''What  has  happened  anyway?  And  why  are  you-all 
sitting  up  so  late?'' 

"Doctor  Parker  was  nearly  lynched  to-night,"  said 
Peter.  "But  it's  all  right  now;  and  Somers  can 
prove  he  couldn't  have  killed  Gaskell  anyhow — that 
the  body  was  cold  before  he  came   out." 

"Oh-h-h!"  Miss  Christie's  cheeks  went  white,  and 
her  violet  eyes  opened.  Again  a  sudden  shock  had 
brought  startling  beauty  into  her  dull  face.  After 
a  breathless  moment   she  disappeared. 

"Go  see  to  your  aunt,  Dorothy,"  said  Somers,  his 
eyes  still  fixed  on  the  waving  portieres.  "We'll  fin- 
ish these  up." 

When  she  had  gone,  he  sat  for  a  moment,  staring 
absently  at  the  doorway.  "Hypothyroidism."  he 
murmured  vaguely.  "You  know,  Uncle  George, 
that  girl's  got  the  makings  of  a  raving  beauty  in 
her !" 

"Who,  Dorothy?     She's  a  beauty  now,"  I  replied. 

"Huh?  Oh,  she's  well  enough,  but  I  meant  the 
other  one.  Miss  Christie.  Wait  till  I've  treated  her 
a  while,  and  you'll  see  what  I  mean." 

He  sighed,  passed  a  lank,  bony  hand  across  his 
eyes,  and  picked  up  his  pen  once  more:  "Mr.  and 
Mrs.  R.  Lawton  McGregor,  42  Bank  Street,  Toronto, 
Canada." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    POLTERGEIST    AGAIN 

IT  must  have  been  half  past  three  when  I  stumbled 
up  to  my  room  at  last,  stripped  off  my  clothes 
almost  automatically,  and  fell  into  bed.  I  was 
asleep  in  two  minutes. 

It  was  the  deep,  dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion, 
from  which  one  does  not  w^ake  immediately,  with 
every  sense  alert.  No;  I  must  climb,  as  it  were,  up 
from  the  very  bottom  of  a  black  abyss  of  uncon- 
sciousness, a  sea  of  oblivion,  struggling  with  infinite 
pains  back  toward  the  light.  For  hours,  as  it  seemed, 
I  fought  my  w^ay  stubbornly  through  a  welter  of 
half -seen  dreams,  in  response  to  some  imperative 
summons  whose  nature,  even,  my  sleep-drugged 
senses  refused  to  grasp. 

At  last  I  came  out  from  sleep  into  wakefulness 
suddenly,  as  a  train  whizzes  out  of  a  long  tunnel  into 
the  daylight.  I  sat  up,  blinking.  It  was  still  dark; 
somewhere  in  the  distance  a  rooster  crowed.  That 
did  not  aid  me  in  fixing  the  time,  for  in  North 
CaroHna  the  cocks  crow  all  night;  but  now  I  saw 
that  the  east  was  faintly  gray,  and  I  heard  the  first 
shrill  whistle  of  an  early-rising  quail. 

By  that  I  knew  dawn  must  be  near  at  hand.  But 
v^-hy  had  I  waked  so  early?  What  was  the  insistent 
call  which  had  dragged  me  back  from  deep  slumber? 
I  blinked  bewalderedly. 


142  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Then  suddenly  a  chill  swept  over  me;  an  eerie 
horripilation  crept  up  my  spine  and  plucked  at  the 
short  hairs  of  my  neck.  As  I  shivered  with  actual, 
physical  cold,  I  saw  that  some  one  or  something 
had  drawn  back  the  blanket,  so  that  I  lay  uncovered 
almost  to  my  knees.  Then,  as  I  leaned  forward, 
clutching  after  the  coverlets,  they  moved  beneath 
my  hand,  as  though  by  their  own  independent  voli- 
tion ! 

I  gave  a  strangled  gasp;  perhaps  I  cried  aloud.  I 
am  not  sure,  for  the  thing  shook  me.  At  any  rate, 
in  the  pale  gray  light  of  coming  dawn,  I  saw  my 
blanket  creep  swiftly,  silently,  over  the  foot  of  the 
bed  and  move  toward  the  door. 

No  one  was  in  sight.  My  eyes,  from  which  sleep 
was  miraculously  purged,  raced  about  the  empty 
room  and  saw  its  every  detail  distinctly.  There 
was  the  dresser,  the  rocking  chair  whereon  hung  my 
clothes,  the  corner  table,  every  familiar  furnishing. 
Beyond  the  foot  of  my  bed  the  door  stood  half  open, 
and  through  it  my  blanket  and  counterpane  were 
moving  in  a  white,  undulating  mass,  that  seemed 
curiously  and  uncannily  alive.  And  still  there  was  no 
sound,  no  stir. 

I  grew  cold  and  rheumatic.  Perhaps  I  hesitated 
for  an  instant,  daunted  by  this  mysterious  phenome- 
non. But  it  was  not  more  than  three  seconds,  I  am 
sure,  before  I  was  out  of  bed  and  standing  at  the 
door,  ready  for — for  whatever  cursed  thing  might 
lurk  there. 

There  was  nothing.  The  hall  stood  empty  and 
still,  as  commonplace  as  at  high  noon.     I  ran  to  the 


THE  POLTERGEIST  AGAIN  143 

head  of  the  stairs  and  leaned  over  the  balustrade. 
The  broad  staircase  stood  empty,  also,  and  the  lower 
hall,  as  far  as  my  eye  could  reach.  Everything  was 
very  still,  so  that  I  heard  the  loud  ticking  of  the 
grandfather  clock  below  me.  But  of  my  nocturnal 
\isitor,  if  visitor  there  had  been,  and  of  my  cover- 
lets, there  was  no  sign  at  all.     Both  had  vanished. 

A  door  creaked,  and  I  spun  about,  nerves  tense  as 
fiddlestrings.  It  was  Doctor  Somers,  more  lathy 
and  slender  of  limb  in  his  pajamas  than  by  day,  if 
that  were  possible. 

"Nightmare?"  he  inquired  sourly.  "You  yelled 
horribly." 

Peter  appeared  beside  him,  dwarfed  by  the  other's 
lank  height;  and  Dorothy's  smooth  black  head  peered 
from  her  door. 

I  blushed  hotly.  I  must  have  made  an  extraor- 
dinary racket,  to  wake  all  these  tired  young  folks! 
*T'm  sorry,  people,"  I  said  apologetically.  ''Either 
I've    had    a    nightmare,    or    it    was    the    Poltergeist 


again." 


*'Humph !"  said  Somers  and  looked  at  me  queerly. 


''Poltergeist?" 


*'I  don't  know.  Either  I  dreamed  it  all,  or  my 
blankets  just  climbed  over  the  footboard  and  walked 
away  by  themselves.     They're  gone,  anyhow." 

Dorothy  came  out,  wrapped  in  her  fuzzy  blue  robe, 
hair  hanging  in  two  sleek  braids  to  her  knees.  "Oh, 
dear !"  said  she  and  peeped  into  my  room.  "Yes, 
they're  gone.  That  best  white  wool  blanket,  Peter, 
and  the  crocheted  counterpane.  It  must  have  been 
the  Poltergeist!" 


144  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

*T'm  c-cold,"  I  muttered,  suddenly  conscious  of 
my  thin  pajamas. 

"Poor  old  dear!  You  climb  right  back  into  bed 
and  let  Peter  tuck  you  in.  Here!"  Dorothy  opened 
the  linen  closet  at  the  end  of  the  hall  and  dragged 
out  more  blankets.  "Cover  him  up,  Peter;  we'll  look 
for  the  other  things  in  the  morning.  No  telling  what 
the  Poltergeist  has  done  with  them!" 

"Humph!"  repeated  Somers.  He  cocked  his  head 
on  one  side,  and,  in  his  pajamas,  whose  wide  stripes, 
running  up  and  down,  accentuated  his  height  and 
lankiness,  he  looked  like  some  new  variety  of  long- 
legged  bird — a  striped  crane. 

"Humph!  Poltergeist!  That's  interesting.'*  His 
tone  held  an  impersonal  enthusiasm,  as  of  a  surgeon 
confronted  with  some  new  and  rare  disease;  I  was 
reminded  of  the  manner  in  which  he  had  pronounced 
Miss  Christie's  sleepiness  due  to  "hypothyroidism," 
whatever  that  may  be.  "A  Poltergeist!  Then  such 
things  have  happened  here  before?" 

Dorothy  nodded.  "Yes,  the  nasty  thing's  been 
hanging  round  for  a  year,  almost,  playing  tricks  like 
this,  breaking  dishes,  yelling  through  the  halls,  and 
everything." 

"Humph!  Well,  let's  get  back  to  bed.  I'll  look 
into  this  later." 

"Ask  Aunt  Mary,"  suggested  Peter  grimly. 
*'She'll  talk  your  arm  off  about  spiritism,  if  you  once 
get  her  started." 

"I  haven't  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your  aunt 
yet,"  replied  Somers.  Then  he  yawned  and  went 
back  into  his  room. 


THE  POLTERGEIST  AGAIN  145 

I  went  back  to  bed,  to  shiver  beneath  my  new 
blankets.  It  was  not  really  cold,  but  I  was  chilled 
through.  And  what  with  fatigue  and  excitement 
and  the  honest  fright  of  watching  my  blankets  creep 
away  in  that  eerie  fashion,  I  could  not  get  to  sleep 
again.  Moreover,  bobwhite  had  tuned  up  in  earnest 
now.  The  shrill,  insistent  whistling  of  a  dozen 
quail,  calling  and  answering  each  other  under  my 
window,  effectually  barred  me  from  further  rest. 
The  high-pitched,  monotonous  call  rang  through  my 
aching  head  maddeningly. 

At  last,  it  might  have  been  seven  o^clock,  I  did 
doze  off,  to  waken  with  a  start  an  hour  later.  I 
rose  then  and  dressed.  Dorothy  was  just  coming 
from  her  rooms;  she  gave  me  a  brave  smile. 

"Good  morning,  my  dear!   You're  fresh  as  a  rose." 

She  was  wearing  a  little  blue  morning  gown,  her 
mass  of  black  hair  neatly  dressed,  and  she  was 
smiling.  One  of  the  many  things  I  found  to  admire 
in  Dorothy  McGregor  was  this :  that  she  was  always 
good-natured,  even  in  the  morning.  No  matter  how 
early  one  saw  her,  she  was  never  peevish  or  sullen, 
in  spite  of  a  hot,  flashing,  little  temper. 

"Good  morning,  Uncle  George.  Did  you  get  any 
rest  at  all?" 

I  sighed.     "Oh,  a  httle.     Where's  Somers?" 

"I  haven't  heard  anything  of  him.  Tired  out,  I 
suppose." 

There  was  no  need  to  ask  where  Peter  was,  for 
I  could  hear  his  lusty  snores  through  his  bedroom 
door.     So  we  two  went  downstairs  together. 

"We'll   have    our    breakfast,"    declared    Dorothy. 


146  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

*'Aunt  Mary'll  be  waiting,  and  she  hates  to  eat  alone. 
The  others  can  eat  when  they  get  up.  They  had  a 
hard  night,  poor  boys!" 

But,  as  we  came  through  the  big  living  room,  the 
front  door  opened  and  Doctor  Somers  entered.  His 
lean,  sallow  face  wore  its  customary  look  of  acute 
dissatisfaction  with  the  universe ;  it  was  neither  more 
nor  less  saturnine  than  when  I  had  first  set  eyes  on 
it,  scarcely  more  than  twelve  hours  ago.  The  strain 
of  last  night  had  left  no  visible  mark  upon  him. 

We  gave  him  a  good  morning,  to  which  he  replied 
with  a  sour  grunt.  "Been  to  the  post  office,"  he  ex- 
plained. "They're  poor  stamps  your  postmaster  sells 
here;  no  stick  to  'em  at  all.  Had  to  buy  a  bottle 
of  mucilage." 

"You  poor  man!  And  did  you  stamp  and  mail 
all  those  notes?" 

Somers  shrugged.  "It  had  to  be  done,"  he  de- 
clared ungraciously. 

We  went  on  into  the  dining  room.  Before  we 
could  be  seated,  the  creaking  of  her  wheel  chair  an- 
nounced Aunt  Mary's  coming.  Dorothy  rang  the 
bell. 

"Quick,   Rosina!     Get  auntie's  coffee!" 

Miss  McGregor  appeared,  the  patient  nurse  at  her 
back.  The  old  lady's  face  wore  its  usual  pathetic 
smile,  and  she  inclined  her  head  to  us  with  sad 
graciousness. 

Somers'  eyes  traveled  past  her.  "Good  morning. 
Miss   Christie!" 

The  nurse  bowed  shyly;  her  big,  violet  eyes 
dropped,  and  a  tinge  of  color  crept  into  her  cheek. 


THE  POLTERGEIST  AGAIN  147 

Aunt  Mary's  stately  head  came  up.  Her  thin 
eyebrows  arched.  "I  don't  think  I've  had  the 
honor " 

"Oh,  forgive  me,  auntie!  I'd  forgotten  you  didn't 
come  out  to  supper  last  night.  This  is  Doctor 
Somers,  Aunt  Mary;  Dr.  Somers,  my  aunt,  Miss 
McGregor.  The  doctor  is — v^as  to  be — Lewis*  best 
man,  you  know." 

''Ah,  of  course!  And  how  do  you  do,  doctor?" 
Miss  McGregor's  tone  was  cool,  to  say  the  least. 
Her  manner  implied  that  Somers  would  hare  done 
much  better  to  stay  in  his  lunatic  asylum.  "It's  so 
unfortunate  that  you  made  that  long  trip  for  nothing; 
you're  from  New  York,  I  think?  Quite  so.  You 
won't  be  able  to  get  back  to  your  practice  before 
Wednesday,  even  by  starting  to-night,  will  you? 
It's  a  great  inconvenience,  but  then  this  dreadful 
affair  has  inconvenienced  everybody.  It  has  upset 
me  terribly — though  that,  of  course,  amounts  to 
nothing !" 

Her  tone,  however,  suggested  that  it  was  the  most 
important  consequence  of  Doctor  Gaskell's  death; 
and  that  we  others  had  deliberately  planned  the 
killing  to  annoy  her,  Mary  McGregor.  It  was  truly 
remarkable,  the  unpleasant  suggestions  Aunt  Mary 
managed  to  convey  by  a  turn  of  the  eye,  an  arching 
of  her  high,  thin  brows,  a  pathetic  inflection  of  her 
sweet,  plaintive  voice,  and  all  with  the  kindest,  brav- 
est, most  self-sacrificing  manner  in  the  world.  I 
could  still  understand  how  casual  visitors  considered 
her  an  uncomplaining  heroine,  a  saint  on  earth;  but 
I  was  no  longer  inclined  to  share  their  opinion. 


148         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Doctor  Somers  smiled  at  her  in  his  sudden,  heart- 
warming fashion,  no  whit  ruffled  by  her  attitude. 
But  I'm  not  going  back  just  3^et,"  he  explained. 
The  hospital  will  do  very  well  without  me;  I  wrote 
this  morning  for  a  month's  leave.  I  shan't  go  back 
until  we've  got  poor  old  Parker  safe  out  of  jail." 

Aunt  Mary  looked  dubious.  "Can  you  make  them 
think  he  did  it  in  self-defense?'' 

He  smiled  again.  ''Something  like  that.  But  tell 
me,  Miss  McGregor,  how  did  you  rest  last  night?" 

She  softened  visibly.  "Very  poorly  indeed.  I'm 
a  great  sufferer,  doctor,  a  great  sufferer.  I  worry 
so  about  my  niece."  She  cast  a  bitter  glance  at 
Dorothy,  who  winced.  'T  lay  awake  for  hours,  just 
thinking  about  her  troubles,  until  the  knots  came 
in  my  neck  so  terribly  that  I  could  have  screamed. 
You  know,  being  a  doctor,  of  course." 

Aunt  Mary  looked  at  Somers  eagerly,  a  bit  appre- 
hensively, I  fancied.  But  he  nodded  gravely.  "I 
know,"  he  assured  her.  "Torticollis  ephemeralis! 
Yes,  indeed,  a  very  painful  ailment."  His  air  of 
serious  sympathy  was  admirable. 

"Yes,  isn't  it?  Well,  I  kept  thinking,  I  must  be 
patient;  I  must  try  to  comfort  poor  Dorothy  in  her 
trials.  She's  not  used  to  suffering,  as  I  am.  I  mustn't 
notice  it  if  her  worries  make  her  heedless  and  self- 
absorbed;  she  doesn't  mean  to  be  inconsiderate.  I 
won't  make  it  harder  for  her  by  complaining.  I  was 
so  sorry,  dear" — turning  to  the  poor  girl,  who  looked 
supremely  uncomfortable — "so  sorry  that  I  had  to 
wake  Miss  Christie  and  send  her  out  last  night — - 
this  morning,  rather.     I  knew,  if  you  hadn't  been  so 


THE  POLTERGEIST  AGAIN  149 

upset,  you'd  have  remembered  that  I  never  can  sleep 
when  there's  so  much  going  on  in  the  house.  I  know 
you  didn't  mean  to  be  selfish,  and  so  I  stood  it  just 
as  long  as  I  could." 

Dorothy  sighed  deeply.  *'Here,  auntie,  try  this 
piece  of  toast;  it's  crisper.  Rosina,  fill  auntie's  cup. 
Yes,  dear,  drink  another  cup  of  coffee.  It'll  do  you 
good." 

Doctor  Somers  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  deft 
question,  and  presently  Aunt  Mary  was  beaming 
upon  him,  discussing  her  symptoms  with  infinite 
relish.  The  charm  of  an  intelligent  and  sympathetic 
listener  brought  unwonted  color  to  her  delicately 
faded  cheek ;  her  rigid  pose  relaxed ;  her  eyes  shone 
brighter.  Absently  she  finished  her  second  cup  of 
coiTee  and  ate  three  more  slices  of  toast,  talking  all 
the  while.  Aunt  Mary  was  enjoying  herself  thor- 
oughly. 

We  others  rose  and  slipped  out,  leaving  her  in  the 
midst  of  an  animated  account  of  the  strange  sensa- 
tions in  her  limbs.  *'You  see,  doctor,  I've  been 
paralyzed  in  both  limbs  for  fourteen  years  now, 
never  able  to  leave  my  chair  except  for  bed.  I  have 
to  be  lifted  and  carried  about  like  a  baby.  And  for 
years  my  limbs  were  perfectly  numb  and  dead;  but 
lately  I've  had  the  queerest  feelings — creepy,  prickly 
feelings.     Do  you  suppose  it's  atrophy?" 

Somers  nodded  gravely.  "No  doubt!  Your  mus- 
cles are  wasting  away,  and  the  spinal  cord  is  affected, 
I  think." 

"Oh,   he's   making   her   out   worse   than   she    is!" 


mo  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 


o 


whispered  Dorothy,  horrified.      "He'll     scare  her  to 
death  r 

"Hush!"  I  told  her.     "Can't  you  see  she  loves  it?" 

"I  resigned  myself  to  that  long  ago,  doctor — not 

being  able  to  stand  on  my  feet  ever  again.     But  the 

queer     feelings,    and    those    terrible    knots    in    my 

neck " 

We  slipped  out.  Doctor  Somers  listened  atten- 
tively, nodding  at  intervals,  but  his  keen,  gray-green 
eyes  were  all  for  the  silent  nurse. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A     FISHING     TRIP 

DOROTHY,  Peter,  and  I  set  off  at  once  for  the 
lockup.  "Tve  just  got  to  see  my  poor  boy,'* 
said  the  girl  tearfully.  "Think  what  an  awful  time 
he  must  have  had  last  night  T' 

She  trotted  about  the  house,  busily  ordering  the  fat 
Rosina  here  and  there,  and  presently  she  called  us 
to  her  aid. 

*There!"  said  she  proudly,  pointing  out  two  huge 
bundles.  "Clean  sheets  and  pillowcases  in  that  one, 
and  a  blanket — you  know,  Uncle  George,  Rosina 
found  your  blanket  and  counterpane  this  morning, 
the  ones  the  Poltergeist  took?  They  were  down  in 
the  coal  bin,  wadded  up,  and  they  were  just  filthy  I 
Oh,  dear!  I  wish  the  horrid  thing  wouldn't  break 
and  destroy  and  dirty  everything  it  touches.  It's  a 
perfectly  wretched  ghost,  Uncle  George,  so  mali- 
cious ! 

She  carried  it  off  gayly  enough,  but  her  big  eyes 
were  restless,  and  I  fancied  a  hint  of  fear  in  their 
depths.  After  all,  though  familiarity  may  make  a 
ghost  less  terrible,  no  one  really  enjoys  its  repeated 
visits.  And,  though  she  pretended  so  much  courage 
and  jested  so  gayly  about  the  tricks  of  the  Polter- 
geist, I  saw  that  she  was  haunted  by  a  very  real 
fear  of  its  comings.  The  poor  child  was  near  the. 
breaking  point. 

'There,  there,  dearie,"  I  comforted  her.     "Don't. 


152         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

you  fret;  everything'll  come  right  yet.  We'll  have 
you  married  off  and  settled  happily  in  a  bright  little 
red-and-white  bungalow,  without  any  ghosts  to 
bother  you.  Be  brave  just  a  little  while  longer, 
child!" 

She  huddled  against  my  shoulder  and  wept  quietly. 
"I  c-can't  help  it,  dear,"  she  declared.  I'll  be  a-all 
right  p-presently.  But  things  are  so  darn  twisted! 
And  that  was  my  very  best  counterpane,  and  I  was 
s-saving  it  for  our  h-house — and  I'm  a-f-fraid  of 
ghosts.  I  am  so!  And  my  beau's  in  jail,  and  the 
wedding  put  off — and  it's  unlucky  to  postpone  wed- 
dings. Uncle  George.  And  Aunt  Mary's  just  m-mean 
to  me,  and  I'm  s-so  unhappy!" 

What  could  I  say?  I  patted  her  shoulder  silently, 
and  presently  she  dabbed  at  her  eyes  with  a  hand- 
kerchief, rolled  up  into  a  damp  ball,  and  smiled  up 
at  me  bravely. 

"I'm  all  right  now,  dear,"  she  told  me  and  ran 
off  to  powder  her  nose. 

So  I  shouldered  a  huge  bundle  of  bedding  and  took 
a  basket  of  eatables  in  my  left  hand  and  descended 
the  steps  to  Lewis'  fhvver,  while  Peter  followed, 
even  more  heavily  laden.  "Time  we  get  through 
and  old  Parker's  out,  we  can  advertise :  'Apartment 
to  rent,  luxuriously  furnished;  apply  at  the  jail.'  " 

I  went  back  after  another  load  and  on  the  way 
peeped  into  the  dining  room.  Aunt  Mary  still  held 
forth,  as  fresh  as  if  she  had  just  begun.  Rosina's 
face  peeped  around  the  edge  of  the  kitchen  door. 
She  was  wondering,  no  doubt,  if  they'd  ever  give 
her  a  chance  to  "cl'ar  away."     Somers  still  listened 


A  FISHING  TRIP  153 

with  courteous  attention,  but  the  eye  he  turned  to  me 
held  a  comical  appeal  for  aid. 

"We're  going  down  to  see  my  nephew  now, 
Somers,"  I  said.     "Want  to  come  along?" 

Aunt  Mary  sighed,  her  thin  eyebrows  arched  high. 
"That's  always  the  way,"  her  expression  said;  "if 
ever  I'm  enjoying  myself  somebody  has  to  spoil  it!" 
But  aloud  she  declared:  "Yes,  doctor,  don't  let  me 
keep  you.  I've  enjoyed  our  little  chat  so  much, 
but  of  course  Dorothy's  wishes  come  first.  I  realize 
that;  and  it's  quite  natural.  Fm  used  to  being 
alone !" 

Somers  gave  her  a  sympathetic  glance.  "I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  go,"  he  replied  reluctantly;  but  he 
rose  with  suspicious  alacrity.  "Perhaps  when  I  get 
back,  Miss  McGregor — yours  is  a  very  interesting 
case — I'd  like  to  hear  more  about  it." 

Aunt  Mary  shrugged,  as  much  as  to  say:  "Why 
go  away  then?"  "I  always  lie  down  after  break- 
fast," she  replied. 

Somers  looked  relieved.  "Well,  some  other  time 
then."  His  greenish  eyes  rested  significantly  upon 
the  silent  nurse.  "You  ought  to  get  out  of  doors 
more,"  he  told  her.     "You  need  exercise." 

Miss  McGregor  sniffed.  "Oh,  she's  healthy 
enough!  You  should  see  her  sleep!"  Aunt  Mary  al- 
ways resented  the  suggestion  that  any  one  else  was 
not  well;  she  felt  that  she  had  a  monopoly  of  in- 
validism for  the  McGregor  family. 

Our  guest  bowed  and  came  out  with  me.  "My," 
he  exclaimed,  "what  a  talker!" 

"Well,  come  along!" 


154         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  not  coming,  thanks. 
Tell  old  Parker  I'll  see  him  later.  I've  got  other 
things  to  do." 

So  I  left  him  and  went  out  to  the  racketing  flivver, 
whose  rear  seat  was  heaped  high.  I  squeezed  in  be- 
side Dorothy  and  Peter  in  front. 

''Where's  Somers,  unk?"  asked  the  latter. 

"Not  coming.  He  doesn't  seem  very  keen  to  see 
Lewis,  after  all." 

"Well!  That's  queer.  He's  cooking  up  some 
other  deep  scheme,  I  suppose.  I  shan't  find  fault 
with  him,  after  last  night." 

"Probably  you're  right,  Peter,"  I  conceded. 

But  Dorothy,  beside  me,  wriggled  impatiently. 
"You  two  men  are  perfectly  bHnd!  He's  just  wait- 
ing for  Aunt  Mary  to  lie  down,  so  he  can  see  Miss 
Christie." 

We  both  laughed.     "What,  that  sleepy  thing?" 

"Yes!  If  you  had  any  eyes  at  all,  you  could  see 
he  was  perfectly  struck  on  her.  And  she  may  be 
a  sleepy  thing,  but  just  you  watch  her  brighten  up, 
once  there's  a  man  around  to  notice  her.  Oh,  you 
can  laugh !  But  I  tell  you  Anne  Christie  is  a  beauty, 
if  she'd  just  wake  up  a  little." 

"She's  too  fat,"  objected  Peter. 

Dorothy  gave  him  a  maddeningly  superior  smile. 
"And  they  say  men  are  the  best  judges  of  a  woman's 
looks!  Wait  till  you  see  her  in  an  evening  dress, 
instead  of  those  horrid,  stiff,  old  uniforms!  Oh,  yes, 
you  will!  I'll  just  bet  you  ten  pounds  of  candy 
against  a  carton  of  cigarettes  she  begins  to  dress  up 
within  a  week!" 


A  FISHING  TRIP  155 

We  hunted  up  a  very  sheepish  constable  and  told 
him  our  errand.  He  handed  the  jail  key  over  to 
me. 

"Yeah,"  he  said,  "you  jus'  take  it  along,  an'  bring 
it  back  w'en  you  git  through.  Don't  forgit  t'  lock 
th'  door  after  yuh.  Yeah,  shore  it'll  be  all  right! 
Nobody  don't  need  t'  know  you  got  it,  does  they? 
An'  say" — coming  closer  and  dropping  his  voice  to 
a  hoarse  whisper — *'they  ain't  no  need  o'  tellin'  about 
las'  night,  is  they?" 

It  was  a  bribe,  I  saw:  free  access  to  the  jail 
against  silence  as  to  Rufe  Wakefield's  inglorious 
part  in  last  night's  troubles.  He  knew  he  was  safe 
enough  in  giving  me  the  key,  irregular  as  it  seems; 
for  my  nephew  would  not  have  dreamed  of  escaping, 
even  if  I  would  have  allowed  it. 

"All  right,  Rufe,"  I  promised.  "We'll  keep  quiet; 
and  I'll  have  the  key  back  to  you  before  noon." 

All  this  had  taken  some  little  time.  As  we  drove 
back  down  Main  Street,  Dorothy  nudged  me  sharply. 
"What  did  I  tell  you?" 

We  swung  round  the  corner,  past  Olsen's  drug 
store,  to  reach  the  jail,  which  was  almost  directly 
behind  it.  And  on  the  drug  store  steps,  just  going 
in,  stood  Miss  Anne  Christie,  while  Doctor  Somers 
held  the  screen  door  back  for  her,  with  a  long,  skinny 
arm. 

"She  does  carry  herself  well,"  said  Peter  critically. 

Dorothy  sniffed.  "I  think  he  might  be  doing  some- 
thing for  Lewis,  instead  ^of  gallivanting  round  with 
that  girl!" 


156         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

We  drove  on  to  the  lockup,  to  find  my  nephew 
haggard,  but  fairly  cheerful. 

"Rufe  brought  me  in  a  gorgeous  breakfast,"  he 
told  us.  "Really",  he's  not  such  a  bad  chap.  Yes,  I 
got  quite  a  bit  of  sleep,  too,  but  I'll  be  glad  of  clean 
sheets.  There,  there,  honey!"  Dorothy  had  choked 
forlornly,  snuggling  close  to  his  shoulder.  "Don't 
worry  any  more;  old  Somers'll  figure  out  some  way 
of  getting  me  out  in  a  day  or  two." 

"But  to-morrow  was  our  wedding  day!"  she  ex- 
claimed disconsolately.  "And,  besides,  your  precious 
Somers  is  just  flirting  with  Aunt  Mary's  nurse;  he's 
not  trying  to  do  a  thing  for  us !" 

However  she  did  her  bridegroom's  prospective  best 
man  something  less  than  justice.  It  might  have  been 
an  hour  later,  while  we  four  still  sat  with  our  heads 
together,  cudgeling  our  brains  for  a  W'ay  out,  that  he 
strolled  casually  in. 

I  heard  the  outer  doorknob  rattle  and  started  up, 
for  I  had  forgotten  to  lock  the  door  after  us,  and 
I  feared  some  official  visitor.  Before  I  could  reach 
it,  the  heavy  door  sw^ung  back,  and  Somers'  black 
head  appeared. 

"Thought  I'd  find  you  folks  here,"  he  said. 
"Ought  to  be  locked  in,  though;  people  might  talk 
about  our  vigilant  cop."  He  turned  the  key  on  the 
inside  and  paused  to  laugh  silently. 

"Clever  chap,  that  Wakefield,"  he  went  on,  ad- 
vancing. His  long,  grotesquely  thin  legs  moved 
stififly,  like  a  pair  of  compasses.  "I  heard  him  talk- 
ing about  that  little  affair  last  night;  he's  out  on 
Main  Street,  holding  forth  right  now.     'An'  I  stood 


A  FISHING  TRIP  157 

right  there  beside  the  lockup/  he  was  saying,  'ready 
f'r  bus'ness.  'At  skinny  feller  come  in  on  Number 
Seven,  he  stood  on  th'  steps  'ith  a  bumb,  darin'  'em 
t'  come  any  furder.  They  was  all  a-yellin',  an'  they 
wouldn't  of  paid  him  no  mind,  but  then  /  come  cut 
'ith  th'  ole  persuader' — and  he  showed  them  that 
rusty  pocket  cannon  he  lugs  around — *an',  "Stan' 
back,  fellers!"  I  says.  AVe-eU,  they  all  knew  me! 
An'  so  they  w^a'n't  no  iynchin'  las'  night!'" 

W^e  all  laughed.  Somers'  imitation  of  the  con- 
stable's rumbling  drawl  was  irresistibly  comic. 

"So  that's  what  he's  telhng!"  A  light  struck  me. 
"No  wonder  he  didn't  want  us  to  talk  about  last 
night!  He  bribed  us  to  keep  quiet,  doctor,  by  letting 
us  take  the  jail  key." 

"I  told  you  you  had  a  clever  constable,  unk.  Oh, 
I've  learned  lots  of' things  this  morning!  I've  talked 
with  a  number  of  your  leading  citizens,  so  I  have." 

"When  we  saw  you,  you  were  otherwise  occupied," 
said  Dorothy  cruelly.  "Or  is  Miss  Christie  one  of 
the  ^leading  citizens'  you  meant?" 

Somers  merely  smiled  at  her.  "Oh,  that!  I  took 
her  to  the  drug  store  to  get  some  thyroid  extract. 
The  girl's  sick,  and  I'm  going  to  cure  her.  Wait 
a  couple  of  weeks;  you  won't  know  her!" 

"And  after  you  got  the  medicine?"  I  prompted, 
curious  to  know  ho\y  he  had  forgathered  with  Wake- 
field. 

"Oh,  Miss  Christie  introduced  me  to  the  druggist, 
Olsen,  then  she  went  on  home.  And  I  hung  around, 
making  myself  agreeable.  Just  a  little  fishing  expe- 
dition. Uncle  George — that's  all!" 


H 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SOME    CLEWS,    AND    A    SUGGESTION 

IS  light  eyes  sparkled  at  us,  and  gratified  pride 
replaced  his  usual  look  of  acute  dissatisfaction 
with  the  world.  *'01d  Doc  Somers  is  a  great  man!" 
he  boasted. 

We  all  stared  at  him,  breathlessly  eager.  "What 
have  you  found  out?"  I  demanded. 

"A  whole  lot  of  things;  enough  so  we  can  begin 
planning  a  defense  for  Parker." 

Peter  straightened  at  the  word.  "A  defense! 
Of  course  he'll  have  to  be  tried  now,  won't  he? 
Folks,  we've  got  to  hire  a  lawyer  right  away!" 

Dorothy  and  I  nodded  agreement.  Lewis  said 
nothing  at  all. 

"There'll  be  a  trial,  yes,"  said  Somers;  "that  is, 
if  the  grand  jury  indicts.  And  I  haven't  much  doubt 
that  it  will;  you  see,  your  man  Vanbrugh,  your 
prosecuting  attorney  that  pleased  you  all  so  much 
at  the  inquest,  will  present  the  evidence  against 
Parker.  Yes,  he'll  be  indicted — I  haven't  a  doubt 
of  it." 

'So  we  need  a  lawyer,"  insisted  Peter. 
'We-ell,  not  to  be  too  modest  about  it,  I'm  a  toler- 
able lawyer  myself,  McGregor.  You  see,  I  started 
out  to  make  myself  a  medicolegal  expert;  to  spe- 
cialize in  medical  jurisprudence.  I  studied  law 
first;  I  was  admitted  to  the  bar  six  years  ago.  and 


<(( 


<^^ 


SOME  CLEWS,  AND  A  SUGGESTION     159 

I  practiced  a  little  while  before  I  entered  the  medical 
school/' 

I  looked  at  him  more  closely.  Last  night,  know- 
ing him  to  be  my  nephew's  classmate,  I  had  thought 
him  thirty,  at  the  most.  No  doubt  my  knowledge 
of  Lewis'  age  had  influenced  me;  moreover  Somers 
had  one  of  those  lean,  dark  faces  on  which  the  years 
leave  little  mark.  But  now%  by  the  morning  sun 
w^hich  streamed  through  the  unshaded  windows  of 
the  jail,  I  could  see  that  he  was  older.  His  black 
hair  was  shot  with  gray  over  the  temples;  there  were 
fine  lines  in  his  forehead  and  about  the  corners  of 
his  deep-set  eyes.  He  must  be  at  least  thirty-eight 
— perhaps  older.  No  wonder  he  had  impressed  me 
as  more  mature  than  Peter  or  Lewis! 

"Yes,  I'm  a  lawyer,"  he  went  on,  "and  not  such 
a  bad  lawyer,  either.  In  a  case  like  this,  where  the 
medical  testimony  will  be  so  important,  perhaps  I'd 
do  as  well  as  another.  That's  up  to  you,  of  course, 
Parker.  If  you  w^ant  somebody  else,  I'll  do  all  I  can 
to  help,  just  the  same." 

Lewis  shook  his  head  vigorously.  "No!  I  don't 
w'ant  anybody  else,  if  you'll  only  help  me  out,  old 
man." 

"Well,  then" — he  made  no  protest  of  willingness, 
no  fervid  promises  of  success;  he  took  the  matter 
as  settled,  and  I  liked  that  in  him — "to  begin  with, 
we'll  take  it  for  granted  that  there'll  be  a  trial — 
unless  in  the  meantime  we  manage  to  find  the  mur- 
derer." 

"You  think  he  was  murdered,  then?"  asked 
Dorothy  fearfully. 


i6o  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"He  must  have  been.  He  surely  didn't  shoot  him- 
self and  then  swallow  the  gun." 

''But  you — but  Lewis "  she  faltered. 

*'But  Lewis  didn't  do  it!  Of  course  not.  Gaskell 
was  dead  before  he  got  there.  But  our  trouble  will 
be  to  prove  that.  If  Uhlman  here  gets  up  and  swears 
Gaskell's  body  was  cold  when  he  got  to  it,  five  min- 
utes after  he  heard  the  shot,  your  prosecuting  at- 
torney— your  solicitor,  as  they  call  him — will  ask 
why  he  didn't  say  so  at  the  time;  why  Wakefield 
didn't  notice  it;  why  it  wasn't  brought  out  at  the 
inquest.  And  what  can  you  say,  Uhlman,  except  that 
you  didn't  think  of  it  until  I  asked  you  about  it? 
Then  your  man  Vanbrugh  will  say:  'Ah,  you  didn't 
remember  this  very  important  point  until  the  learned 
counsel  for  the  defense  explained  it  to  you?' — with 
a  significant  glance  at  the  jury.  And  then:  'x\nd 
you're  related  to  the  prisoner,  aren't  you,  Mr.  Uhl- 
man? His  uncle,  I  think,  yes?  And  you're  fond 
of  him,  aren't  you — very  fond  of  him,  in  fact? 
Exactly!'  And  he'll  give  the  jury  another  wise  look 
and  tell  you  to  step  down." 

I  nodded  soberly.  "But — but  then  they'll  convict 
him!"  said  Dorothy. 

"Oh,  no — at  least  we'll  hope  not.  But  the  best 
way  to  defend  him  is  to  find  out  who  really  com- 
mitted the  murder;  don't  you  see?     So  let's  talk  it 


over." 


Somers  settled  himself  more  comfortably  and  re- 
crossed  those  extraordinary  legs. 

"To  begin  with  I  had  a  chat  with  your  constable. 
Had  it  occurred  to  you  to  wonder  how  he  happened 


SOME  CLEWS,  AND  A  SUGGESTION      i6i 

to  be  coming  past  Fort  House  at  five  in  the  morning, 
just  at  the  right  time  to  hear  Parker  shoot?  No? 
Well,  I  thought  of  it.  He'd  been  out  at  a  httle  poker 
party,  an  all-night  session  at  Tulliver's,  back  on  the 
hill.  He  lost  fifty  dollars,  too;  it  made  him  mad,  and 
that,  I  suspect,  was  behind  his  zeal  in  enforcing  the 
ordinance  about  discharging  firearms  in  the  corpora- 
tion. He  had  been  drinking!  Officially,  Fve  no 
doubt  that  the  amiable  Rufus  is  an  ardent  prohibi- 
tionist; but  unofficially  he  likes  his  toddy.  Corn 
liquor  was  plenty  up  on  the  hill,  it  appears;  and  Rufe 
was  too  much  under  its  influence  to  notice  details; 
didn't  you  know  that.  Uncle  George?'* 

"I — I "    I  stammered.     "We  were  all  so  upset 

that  I  didn't  think  it  odd  that  he  seemed  so,  too.  But, 
now  that  you  speak  of  it,  he  did  seem  rather — 
rather  uncertain." 

"Humph!  It  makes  it  bad  for  us,  too.  When 
Vanbrugh  gets  hold  of  him,  Wakefield  will  swear  to 
almost  anything,  just  to  prove  he  was  sober  enough 
to  know  all  that  happened.  Well,  here's  another 
thing.  You  know  this  chap  Satterfield — Ralph  Sat- 
terfield?  He  led  the  mob  last  night.  Did  he  have 
any  grudge  against  Gaskell?" 

Why,  yes,"  answered  Lewis  and  I  together. 
Gaskell  was  one  of  the  town  commissioners.  And 
during  May  he  was  acting  mayor.  Satterfield  was 
brought  before  him  for  being  drunk  and  disorderly 
and  for  bootlegging,  and  Gaskell  gave  him  thirty 
days  on  the  roads." 

"And  that's  not  all,  Uncle  George,"  my  nephew 


i62  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

went  on.  "Remember  there  at  Olsen's  he  bragged 
that  he  was  going  to  settle  with  Gaskell?" 

''All  right,"  said  Somers.  ''Satterfield  was  at  the 
poker  party,  too.  Tulliver  has  a  phone;  about  four 
o'clock  somebody  called  Satterfield  up  there,  and  he 
w^ent  out  in  a  great  hurry,  saying  he'd  be  back  in 
an  hour.  What's  more,  he  went  out  the  back  door, 
and  Tulliver's  shotgun  stood  right  beside  it.  I  got 
all  this  firsthand,  by  a  little  judicious  questioning, 
partly  from  Rufe,  and  partly  from  another  chap  who 
was  there.  Mind  you,  we  don't  know  that  Satter- 
field took  that  gun;  but  he  might  have  taken  it  and 
brought  it  back  with  him.  Nobody  was  out  that 
way  vvdiile  he  was  gone. 

**He  came  back  in  an  hour  or  so,  very  much  out 
of  breath.  When  somebody  asked  him  where  he'd 
been,  he  drew  a  pistol  and  threatened  to  kill  the 
fellow.  They  quieted  him  down;  but,  as  they  were 
all  more  or  less  drunk,  they  didn't  think  much 
about  it.  But  it's  worth  looking  into,  especially  as 
it  seems  Satterfield's  daughter,  Minnie,  is  your  night 
telephone  operator.  Olsen  phoned  for  Doctor  Gaskell 
to  come  and  see  his  sick  baby;  and  this  girl  put  the 
call  through,  and  no  doubt  listened  in ;  night  opera- 
tors usually  do.  Right  after  that,  as  I  figure  it, 
she  called  up  Tulliver's  house  and  gave  a  message 
to  her  father." 

"Why,  it's  open  and  shut!"  I  exclaimed  excitedly. 
"She  told  her  father  Gaskell  was  going  out.  Satter- 
field knew  he'd  take  the  short  cut,  that  path  through 
the  Fort  House  grounds;  it's  the  nearest  way  to 
Olsen's.    He  took  Tulliver's  gun  and  ran  down  there, 


SOME  CLEWS,  AND  A  SUGGESTION     163 

while  the  doctor  was  dressing,  and  lay  in  wait  for 
him  and  killed  him!" 

''It's  possible,"  conceded  Somers.  "We'll  investi- 
gate, at  least.  And,  if  we  can't  hang  it  on  him, 
we'll  bring  it  up  at  the  trial,  anyhow.  It  will  go 
to  show  that  somebody  else  might  have  done  the 
shooting." 

"Oh,  the  trial,  the  trial!"  It  was  Dorothy,  im- 
patiently tearful.  "You  keep  talking  about  a  trial, 
and  that'll  be  weeks  and  weeks,  maybe  months !  And 
all  that  time  my  poor  Lewis  will  have  to  stay  in  this 
horrid  old  jail,  and — and  t-to-morrow  was  our  wed- 
ding day!    Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!    W^hat  shall  I  do?" 

The  poor  girl  broke  down  completely  and  wept 
without  restraint,  hanging  upon  her  lover's  neck. 

Somers  looked  at  her  keenly.  "What  do  you 
want  to  do?" 

She  sobbed.  "I  w^as  going  to  be  married  to-mor- 
row, and  my  wedding  dress  is  all  ready,  and  the 
cake  baked,  even!  And  now  Lewis  is  in  j-jail  for 
weeks  and  months — and  maybe  they'll  c-convict  him 
or  something,  and  we  c-can't  ever  be  married  at  all! 
And  I'll  die  an  old  maid,  because  I  won't  ever 
marry  any  other  body!" 

'Humph !     Get  married,  then.'* 

'And  it's  just  awfully  unlucky  to  put  off  your 
wedding  day,  and — and "  She  broke  off  sud- 
denly, raising  a  tear-stained  face,  as  the  meaning  of 
Somers'  words  struck  home.  "Get  m-married? 
What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  say.     Your  wedding  dress  is  ready,  you 


iC] 


i( 


i64  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

say,  and  the  cake  is  baked.  Well,  here  I  am,  too,  a 
perfectly  good  best  man.  And  there's  Parker;  and 
here's  the  jail.  There's  a  preacher  in  town,  I  sup- 
pose. We've  got  the  freedom  of  the  lockup,  thanks 
to  Rufe  Wakefield;  why  not  have  your  wedding 
right  here  to-morrow,  on  schedule  time?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AN     UNUSUAL    WEDDING 

A  BIG  tear  still  undried  on  her  cheek,  Dorothy 
stared  at  the  tall,  lanky  Somers.  Her  blank 
wonderment  gradually  merged  into  admiration,  and 
a  very  becoming  blush  crept  over  her  fair  face. 

"Get  married  to-morrow — anyway?"  she  asked. 
''Why — why  not?  I  think  it  would  be  just  lovely." 
She  grew  more  animated  as  this  new  idea  shaped 
itself  before  her  imagination.  *'We  couldn't  have 
a  big  wedding  anyway,  after  all  this  horrid  trouble 
— not  for  months  and  months!  And  just  think  of 
the  expense!  New  invitations,  new  flowers,  another 
wedding  dress,  and  everything.  And  Aunt  Mary's 
been  so  upset,  getting  ready  for  the  house  guests, 
and  there'd  be  that  to  go  through  with  again.  And 
think,  Lewis!  We'd  have  to  pay  rent  on  our  house 
all  that  time,  without  being  able  to  live  in  it. 
Oh,  I  think  it  would  be  just  lovely!  W^e  can  bring 
the  flowers  down  here  and  decorate  the  place  and 
have  our  wedding  breakfast  right  here;  just  the 
family,  and  maybe  Marie  and  Sally  Westfall,"  nam- 
ing her  bridesmaids.  "We'll  do  it!  Of  course  we 
will!  Peter,  run  over  to  the  depot  and  see  if  the 
flowers  have  come.  I'll  have  roses  over  there,  and 
a  bank  of  ferns,  and " 

Her  happy,  excited  voice  trailed  away,  as  she  ran 
a  calculating  eye  about  the  bare,  cramped  place,  plan- 
ning her  decorations  with  truly  feminine  adaptability. 


i66         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

But  my  nephew  caught  her  hand.  ''No,  Dorothy!" 
lie  cried  miserably.  *'No,  honey  girl.  You  know  Vd 
just  love  it,  but  I  can't  let  you.  You're  forgetting; 
I'm  in  prison,  charged  with  murder.  I'll  have  to  stay 
here  for  weeks,  anyhow ;  and  then  I  may  be  convicted 
and  executed,  or  worse  yet,  given  life  imprisonment. 
And  then  you'd  be  tied  for  Hfe  to  a  convict,  honey; 
you'd  be  worse  than  a  widow.  No,  you  must  give 
me  up,  and  maybe,  in  a  year  or  two,  you'll  find 
somebody  else  and  be  married  and  find  happiness 
after  all.  And  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  me,  there  in 
prison,  to  know  your  life  hadn't  been  ruined,  too." 

The  boy  straightened,  looking  very  noble  and  self- 
sacrificing.  His  eyes  were  moist;  I  fancy  that  he 
found  a  dismal  enjoyment  in  the  thought  of  this 
great  renunciation.  He  pictured  himself  in  stripes, 
no  doubt,  wandering  alone  down  the  long  corridor  of 
years,  upborne  by  his  own  self-sacrifice.  The  young 
have  a  way  of  enjoying  tragedy — in  prospect,  at 
least. 

But  Dorothy  only  laughed  at  him.  "Fiddlesticks! 
You're  not  going  to  be  convicted.  You're  not!  I 
won't  have  it!  You  won't  even  have  to  be  tried; 
Doctor  Somers  will  find  the  man  who  really  did  it, 
and  you'll  be  home  with  me  in  a  week,  maybe !  And, 
if  you're  not,  I  won't  ever,  ever,  ever  marry  any 
other  body — so  there!  I  guess  I  can  be  noble  too! 
And  we're  going  to  be  married  at  noon  to-morrow, 
right  here  in  this  jail,  so  you  might  as  well  make 
the  best  of  it!" 

Dropping  on  the  narrow  bunk  beside  him  she 
began  to  whisper  eagerly  into  his  ear. 


AN  UNUSUAL  WEDDING  167 

Well,  that  was  all  of  that.  There  are  limits  to 
any  man's  capacity  for  self-abnegation,  and  Lewis 
was  very  human.  Who  could  have  resisted  Dorothy 
McGregor's  sweet  pleading,  her  flushed,  bright-eyed 
anticipation  of  this  pitiful  wedding,  so  different  from 
that  she  had  planned? 

"And  really,"  she  argued  wisely,  ''it'll  be  lots  nicer 
than  a  big  church  afifair — lots!  I  shan't  have  to  get 
all  tired  out  running  around,  looking  after  a  lot  of 
guests  we  don't  care  anything  about,  getting  ice 
cream  spilled  on  my  wedding  dress,  and  having  the 
ushers  put  all  the  wrong  people  into  the  wrong  pews. 
I've  been  worried  out  of  my  life  for  weeks,  just 
imagining  what  w^ould  happen  if  they  should  seat 
Cousin  John  beside  Uncle  Will  Marshall.  They 
haven't  spoken  for  twenty  years,  you  know.  Oh, 
this'll  be  so  much  better.     Why,  it's  just  sweet!" 

Lewis  smiled  bitterly.  "  'Sweet,'  "  he  repeated, 
"marrying  a  man — in  a  jail!"  But  his  protest  was 
uncertain,  and  Dorothy  paid  no  attention  to  it  what- 
ever. He  had  capitulated;  she  knew  it  well  enough, 
and  we  all  recognized  it.  From  that  time  on  my 
nephew  had  no  more  voice  in  the  arrangement  of  his 
wedding  than  has  any  other  well-conducted  bride- 
groom. 

In  the  midst  of  our  excited  talk  some  one  tried 
the  jail  door.  We  all  stopped  short,  alarmed,  the 
memory  of  last  night's  attack  fresh  in  our  minds. 
Then  Somers,  shrugging  resignedly,  opened  the  big 
door,  which  he  had  locked  again  after  Peter's  exit. 

In  the  aperture  appeared  the  wide-brimmied  hat 
and   leathery,    lined    face   of    High    Sheriff   Redden. 


4( 


i68  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

He  blinked  at  us  queerly,  his  red-rimmed,  rheumy 
eyes  taking  in  the  unusual  scene  before  him;  for 
Dorothy  and  Lewis  sat  hand  in  hand  on  the  narrow 
bunk,  while  I  huddled  uncomfortably  on  the  floor, 
my  back  to  the  cage  bars,  with  a  bundle  of  the 
McGregors*  best  bed  linen  for  a  divan.  It  was  a 
curious  spectacle  for  a  well-conducted  jail,  to  say 
the  least. 

The  sheriff  swept  off  his  hat  and  bowed  deeply. 

Mornin',  ma'am,"  he  said  to  the  girl  deferentially. 

Howdy,  folks!  You-all  aim  t'  be  comf'table  as 
you  kin,  I  see."  He  fingered  his  wispy  white  mus- 
tache and  turned  to  Somers.  ''Howdy,  stranger! 
F'om  Rufe's  story  you  an'  him  saved  my  pris'ner 
f'om  gittin'  lynched  las'  night — or,  anyways,  it  was 
Rufe  mostly,  accordin'  to  his  tell." 

He  winked  elaborately  at  the  physician.  Over  his 
shoulder  appeared  the  anxious  face  of  the  huge 
constable.  Wakefield  shook  a  leonine  head  in 
agonized  appeal,  winked  frantically,  laid  a  finger 
to  his  lips,  begging  dumbly  for  our  silence. 

Somers  grinned.  "Oh,  yes!  Mr.  Wakefield 
showed  the  best  part  of  valor,  certainly." 

''H'm!  Yuh  cain't  tell  me  nothin'  about  Rufe 
Wakefield,  stranger.  But  I'm  obliged  to  yuh,  sir. 
They^d  of  been  right  smart  talk  round  Carabas 
County  if  anythin'  had  happened  to  one  of  Hank 
Redden's  prisoners.  Ain't  aimin'  t'  have  no  lynchin's 
hereabouts,  w'ile  I'm  sheriff!     Nossir!" 

He  extended  a  gnarled  hand  gravely,  looking 
Somers   up   and   down.      ''Yo're   lengthy   enough   t' 


AN  UNUSUAL  WEDDING  169 

give  anybody  a  battle,  stranger,"  he  drawled,  "even 
if  they  ain't  s'  much  to  yuh  crossways."  ^ 

Somers  laughed.     "We  can't  all  be  fat,  sheriff." 

Redden  fingered  his  wispy  mustache.  He  was  thin 
to  emaciation.  "H'm,  I  reckon  not.  An'  now,  folks, 
this  here  ain't  quite  reg'lar.  I  know  it's  all  right, 
but  Rufe  hadn't  ought  to  of  give  you-all  that  key. 
I'm  responsible  f'r  havin'  Doc  Parker  here  guarded 
right.  Cain't  let  things  go  on  this  a  way;  folks  'ud 
talk." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Redden,"  said  Dorothy  prettily,  "you 
won't  make  it  any  harder  for  us?  Why,  Lewis  and  I 
are  going  to  be  married  to-morrow!" 

"H'm,"  said  the  sheriff.  His  watery  eyes  blinked 
rapidly,  but  I  fancied  that  their  pale  gaze  softened. 
"H'm!     Aimin'  t'  git  married  here?" 

"Uh-huh,"  said  Dorothy,  like  a  little,  bashful 
schoolgirl. 

Peter  pushed  in,  breathless.  "The  flowers  have 
come.     Shall  I  bring  'em  here?" 

"We-ell,  I  be  dogged!  H'm!  Yessum!'^  The 
sheriff's  face  cleared.  "I  reckon  I  c'n  fix  it  up, 
ma'am — anyways,  if  you'll  invite  me  to  it." 

"Why,  of  course!  I  was  counting  on  you  to  give 
me  away,"  declared  Dorothy  shamelessly.  "My  aunt 
can't  come;  she's  paralyzed,  you  know;  and  Uncle 
George  couldn't  do  it  very  well  because  he's  Lewis' 
uncle.     Will  you,  sheriff?" 

"I  jus'  reckon  I  will,  ma'am!  W'y,  twenty 
mewels  couldn't  keep  me  away.  Hold  up  yore  right 
hand,  stranger,  and  you,  McGregor,  an'  you,  Mr. 
Uhlman.     I  deppytize  you-all.     Yo're  depitty  sheriffs 


170  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

of  the  County  of  Carabas,  State  of  No'th  Carolina, 
charged  with  th'  guardin'  of  this  here  pris'ner  an' 
responsible  fer  his  body  to  me.  You  c'n  keep  them 
keys  now,  gentlemen.  Rufe,  you  got  to  feed  'im  yit; 
you  c'n  fix  it  up  'ith  them  t'  let  you  in,  mealtimes." 

And  with  no  more  formality  than  this,  we  became 
deputy  sheriffs.  Mr.  Redden  departed  presently, 
promising  to  return  for  the  ceremony  to-morrow; 
and,  before  we  had  settled  all  details  and  departed 
homeward  for  lunch,  an  ancient  roadster  rattled  up 
to  the  jail  door  and  the  lean,  tobacco-chewing  deputy 
sheriff  from  the  county  jail  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

**Here,"  said  he  laconically,  as  he  thrust  a  package 
at  me.  ''Sheriff  says  t'  wear  'em  whenever  yuh  come 
round  th'  jail." 

I  unwrapped  the  newspaper  to  find  three  stars; 
Peter,  Somers,  and  I  pinned  them  to  our  coat  fronts, 
not  without  pride.     We  were  ofilicers  of  the  law ! 

The  preparations  for  this  most  unconventional 
wedding  went  merrily  on.  We  ate  a  hurried  lunch, 
scarcely  heeding  Aunt  Mary's  acid  comments.  She 
would  never  have  given  her  consent  to  such  an  insane 
proceeding,  if  she'd  been  asked.  But  no  one  ever 
considered  her;  she  was  used  to  being  ignored.  Such 
a  disgrace — to  be  married  in  a  common  jail!  What 
were  young  people  coming  to,  anyhow  ?  No  modesty, 
no  idea  of  common  decency,  even.  Why,  the  very 
thought  of  this  monstrous  proceeding  sent  queer 
feelings  all  up  and  down  her  spine !  She  could  feel 
the  knots  coming  in  her  neck  already.  But  of  course 
that  was  nothing;  she'd  be  the  last  to  expect  any 
consideration    for    her    sufferings.      Thank    Heaven 


AN  UNUSUAL  WEDDING  171 

she  was  given  strength  and  patience  to  bear  them 
without  a  murmur!  *'Take  me  to  my  room,  M*ss 
Christie,  please;  I  can't  eat  one  mouthful.  I  don't 
believe  I  shall  survive  this  blow,  but,  no  doubt,  it's 
for  the  best.  A  poor,  crippled  old  woman  like  me 
— I  shall  be  glad  to  die  and  find  rest  in  the  grave! 
Ah,  well,  you  might  wait  until  I  finish  my  tea, 
nurse !" 

Presently  Miss  McGregor  was  wheeled  away,  and 
w^e  all  sighed  our  relief  at  her  going.  "Don't  forget 
to  take  your  tablet,  Miss  Christie!"  Somers  called 
after  them.. 

The  nurse  nodded  and  smiled  over  her  shoulder, 
a  becoming  color  in  her  round  cheeks. 

"In-deed!"  murmured  Aunt  Mary  to  herself,  quite 
audibly,  as  the  wheel  chair  disappeared.  "Every  one 
needs  medical  attention  except  me,  it  appears.  Pity 
her  sufferings  wouldn't  keep  her  awake!" 

After  lunch  we  hurried  back  to  the  jail,  of  which 
W'C  were  now  free  officially  and  regularly.  And  all 
that  afternoon  and  evening  I  risked  my  aged,  rheu- 
matic limbs  upon  a  wabbly  stepladder,  arranging 
draperies,  hanging  wreaths,  tacking  up  ferns,  until 
the  lockup  had  become  a  bower  of  beauty.  Peter 
ran  errands  indefatigably,  and  Somers,  whose  lathy 
length  needed  no  ladder,  worked  at  my  side,  per- 
forming prodigies  of  reaching  with  those  lank  arms. 
Dorothy  bossed  us  all  unmercifully;  and  poor  Lewis 
was  driven  from  one  corner  to  another.  His  toes 
were  trodden  on,  he  was  abused  roundly  for  getting 
in  the  way,  and  generally  made  to  feel  as  useless  and 
unnecessary  as  any  other  bridegroom. 


172  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

The  last  straw  was  added  when  Dorothy  ordered 
us  to  heap  his  bunk  with  roses  and  ferns.  ''Where'U 
I   sleep  to-night?"   he   inquired  mournfully. 

"Why,  we'll  make  you  up  a  nice  bed  on  the  floor, 
dearest,  with  both  mattresses  and  all  the  covers  I 
brought  from  the  house.  It'll  be  just  as  comfortable ; 
and  we've  got  to  hide  that  horrid  old  bunk." 

*  Whose  jail  is  this,  anyhow?"  asked  Lewis  of 
me,  being  very  careful,  however,  to  keep  his  voice 
down.  "You're  one  of  my  stern  jailors  now,  unk. 
Tell  me,  hasn't  a  poor  prisoner  any  rights?" 

"As  a  prisoner,  yes,  my  boy;  but  as  a  bridegroom, 
nol"  I  said  to  him  firmly.  "Bridegrooms  are  only 
permitted  to  live  at  all  on  condition  that  they  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  their  betters." 

At  last  it  was  done,  and  we  went  home,  flushed 
and  tired,  leaving  Lewis  to  sleep  on  the  floor. 

"It's  going  to  be  just  lovely!"  said  Dorothy.  "I'll 
be  awfully  busy  all  morning,  seeing  to  the  wedding 
breakfast;  we'll  have  to  pack  it  all  up  and  bring  it 
to  the  jail  in  baskets.  Peter,  I  want  you  to  go  after 
Mr.  Duncan.  No,  you'd  better  do  th^t,  Uncle 
George;  there  will  be  some  explaining  to  do." 

I  sighed  resignedly.  I  could  see  myself  explaining 
to  the  Reverend  Percy  Duncan  that  Miss  McGregor's 
wedding  was  to  be  solemnized  after  all — in  the 
village  lockup,  and  that  he  was  invited  to  officiate. 

"You,  Peter,"  our  inexorable  task-mistress  went 
on,  "will  have  to  keep  Lewis'  flivver  going;  Rosina 
and  I'll  be  back  and  forth  with  baskets  and  things. 
And,  Doctor  Somers,  you  go  down  first  thing  and 


AN  UNUSUAL  WEDDING  173 

stay  with  Lewis ;  see  that  he  doesn't  upset  any  of  our 
decorations." 

'T\\  take  care  of  him,"  replied  Somers.  "Yes," 
to  Dorothy's  mute,  questioning  gaze,  ''y^s,  I've  got 
the  ring  and  all  that.  Don't  you  worry.  I've  been 
best  man  before  now." 

"I — I  wish  I  could  come,  too!"  said  Miss  Christie 
wistfully.  Aunt  Mary,  ostentatiously  resigned,  had 
retired  for  the  night,  and  the  nurse  had  joined  us  in 
the  living  room,  which  was  not  her  usual  custom. 
Her  blond  hair  was  coiled  about  a  shapely  head;  she 
had  discarded  her  unbecoming  white  uniform  and 
wore  a  simple  dress  of  some  soft,  clinging  blue  stuff 
— chiffon,  I  suppose.  Her  violet  eyes  wxre  un- 
w^ontedly  bright;  the  bovine  calm  of  her  face  had 
melted,  so  that  she  seemed  almost  animated. 

Dorothy  nudged  me.  ''Look!"  she  whispered.  "I 
told  you!" 

I  knew  what  she  meant.  And,  indeed,  to-night 
Miss  Christie  was  very  near  to  being  a  beauty.  ''I 
wish  I  could  go,"  she  repeated  softly,  her  big  eyes 
on  Doctor  Somers. 

"I  wish  you  could,"  he  answered  sincerely. 

Dorothy  rose  abruptly,  tugged  at  my  arm  and 
beckoned  to  Peter,  and  dragged  us  both  incontinently 
out  of  the  room.  "Go  to  bed,  both  of  you!"  she 
ordered.     "There's  a  hard  day  ahead  of  you." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SOMERS   DISGRACES    HIMSELF 

DOROTHY'S  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  Wednesday 
dawned  clear  and  hot,  and  we  sweltered 
through  a  long  forenoon,  doing  all  those  thousand 
last  trifles  which  every  wedding  demands. 

The  news  had  run  through  all  Pinelands;  curious 
eyes  followed  our  every  movement,  as  we  hurried 
through  the  streets,  variously  laden.  I  should  have 
liked  to  hear  the  comment  of  some  of  the  town's 
strait-laced  matrons;  but  sentiment  generally  seemed 
much  in  our  favor.  The  romance  of  this  marriage 
had  caught  the  fancy  of  our  villagers.  Many  an  eye 
beamed  upon  Dorothy  as  she  raced  back  and  forth 
in  Lewis'  flivver;  many  a  man  and  woman  stopped 
me,  as  I  limped  hurriedly  by,  to  wish  her  good  luck 
by  proxy.  I  was  glad  that  Doctor  Gaskell's  quiet 
funeral  had  been  held  yesterday,  so  that  sight  of 
his  hearse  need  not  mar  Dorothy's  joy. 

A  crowd  gathered  before  the  jail;  it  separated 
respectfully,  as  our  few  guests  arrived,  then  closed 
again,  craning  curious  necks.  On  my  final  trip  I 
found  Somers  in  the  heart  of  the  throng,  hail-fellow- 
well-met  with  them  all,  passing  rude  jests  back  and 
forth.  I  fancied  that  I  saw  the  glint  of  a  black 
bottle  circulating,  but  I  could  not  be  sure. 

Then  Dorothy  came,  a  thin  silk  coat  over  her 
wedding  finery,  and  we  went  in. 

The  ceremony  went  off  excellently,  I  thought;  the 


SOMERS  DISGRACES  HIMSELF  175 

more  impressive  and  solemn  for  its  unusual  setting. 
Sheriff  Redden,  in  an  ancient  double-breasted  frock 
coat  of  voluminous  skirts,  gave  the  bride  away,  with 
an  old-fashioned  gallantry,  which  was  very  pleasing; 
Lewis  looked  handsome  and  manly  enough,  albeit 
a  bit  pale  and  nervous;  and  the  bride  was  charming. 

When  they  were  safely  married,  a  shyly  impor- 
tunate messenger  from  the  crowd  without  begged 
them  to  show  themselves.  So  the  big  door  was 
swung  back,  and  bride  and  groom  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  jail  steps,  and  a  very  striking  couple 
thev  made. 

Hearty  cheers  greeted  them.  There  was  nothing 
which  could  be  resented  in  the  town's  spontaneous 
sympathy;  these  cheering  folk  without  were  honestly, 
whole-heartedly  rejoicing  in  the  happiness  of  our 
young  people.  They  paid  their  tribute  of  sincere 
admiration  to  this  daughter  of  Pinelands,  w^ho  had 
had  courage  to  stand  up  for  her  lover. 

Dorothy  turned  back  with  moist  eyes.  "After 
all,  they're  my  home  folks,  and  I  love  them  all — 
to-day !" 

I,  too,  had  warmed  toward  the  town  of  my  adop- 
tion; and,  for  some  reason,  it  only  convinced  me 
further  of  its  sincerity  when  I  saw  in  the  crowd  Sat- 
terfield.  Bates,  and  Conover,  and  a  dozen  others,  who 
less  than  forty-eight  hours  ago  had  surrounded  this 
very  jail  with  intent  to  hang  the  man  they  were 
cheering  now.  I  chose  to  believe  that  this,  and  not 
the  sullen  menace  of  that  night,  was  their  normal 
mood. 

Still  in  her  wedding  finery,  Dorothy,  aided  by  her 


176  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

two  bridesmaids,  fell  to  laying  out  the  wedding 
breakfast  on  card  tables;  and  an  extraordinary  fine 
breakfast  it  seemed  to  all  of  us,  I  think,  and  we 
did  ample  justice  to  it. 

The  crowd  outside  lessened,  but  did  not  entirely 
disperse.  We  heard  a  rumble  of  conversation,  an 
occasional  outbreak  of  laughter,  and  at  last  a  vocifer- 
ous cry: 

"We — want — Somers !" 

Renewed  laugher.  "Cut  it  out,  fellers,"  urged 
some  one.     "Don't  bust  up  th'  party !" 

More  yells:  "We — want — Somers!  Hey,  Shorty! 
Come  on  out.  Splinter!     Oh,  you  bean  pole!" 

Thus  variously  adjured.  Doctor  Somers  unfolded 
his  lean  length.  "I  guess  I'd  better  go,"  he  said. 
Suddenly  I  observed  that  the  bright  eyes  he  turned 
upon  us  were  suspiciously  unsteady  of  focus.  "I — 
I'm  afraid  it's  partly  my  fault  their  hanging  round 
this  way.     I'll  persuade  them  to  go  away." 

He  turned  toward  the  door,  his  long  stork  legs 
moving  stiffly,  as  if  he  preserved  his  equilibrium  by 
an  effort.  I  wondered  whether  Somers  had  been 
drinking,  then  abused  myself  for  the  disloyal  thought. 
Just  inside  the  door  he  paused  and  pinned  his  deputy- 
sheriff's  star  to  the  left  breast  of  his  immaculate 
morning  coat.  The  effect  was  unusual  in  the  ex- 
treme, but  he  seemed  wholly  satisfied  therewith. 

Then  he  bowed  profoundly,  recovered  himself  with 
difficulty,  and  disappeared,  leaving  poor  Dorothy  to 
look  after  him  in  accusing  wonder. 

"Why  Lewis,  what  makes  him  act  so  queer?"  she 
demanded. 


SOMERS  DISGRACES  HIMSELF  177 

Renewed  clamor  without.  "Yeay,  Splinter! 
Hooray,  Somers!  Atta  boy — let's  go!"  The  raucous 
voice  of  Ralph  Satterfield  predominated. 

*'Your  friend  Somers  seems  to  be — ah — popular," 
I  remarked  grimly  to  my  nephew. 

Lewis  flushed.  "Oh,  he's  all  right,  unk,"  he  re- 
plied.    "Let  him  alone;  he  knows  what  he's  doing." 

No  doubt  he  did;  and,  remembering  all  that  he 
had  already  accomplished,  I  could  not  blame  him 
much.  Yet ''He's  awfully  thick  with  Satter- 
field and  that  bunch,"  I  said.  "And  he's  been  drink- 
ing this  morning,  or  I  miss  my  guess.  Does  he — 
is  he  taken  this  way  often?" 

"Nonsense,  unk!  Somers  is  no  drunkard,  if  that's 
what  you're  getting  at.  He's  an  odd  sort;  I  told  you 
that.     He's  got  some  scheme  on  hand,  that's  all." 

"Some  scheme  with  that  low-down  bootlegger!" 
I  replied.  "With  the  very  crowd  that  wanted  to 
hang  you  the  other  night!  Humph!  I  don't  admire 
his  choice  of  friends." 

Our  festivities  went  on;  but  some  way  the  zest 
of  them  had  departed.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Duncan 
felt  called  upon  to  make  a  little  speech,  extolling 
Dorothy's  heroic  sacrifices  for  the  man  she  loved, 
gushing  about  my  conduct  Monday  night — though 
it  was  little  enough  I  did  to  protect  Lewis — and  gen- 
erally making  himself  oratorically  obnoxious,  and 
the  rest  of  us  uncomfortable.  Then  the  bridesmaids 
must  weep  over  Dorothy,  as  bridesmaids,  I  suppose, 
have  wept  over  brides  since  the  first  wedding  day  in 
history;  and  Dorothy  cried  a  little,  too,  because  they 
cried;    and    Peter   and    I    wrung   Lewis'    hand    and 


178         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

choked — and  I,  for  one,  was  considerably  relieved 
when  the  Reverend  Mr.  Duncan  kissed  the  bride 
once  more  and  departed,  leaving  us  his  blessing. 

Then  the  bridesmaids  went,  too,  and  our  handful 
of  guests.  Peter  and  I  were  alone  with  the  happy 
couple.  Dorothy  cried  again  because  she  must  leave 
her  husband  and  go  back  to  Fort  House;  and  Peter 
stood  amazingly  erect  and  blew  his  nose  sonorously; 
and  Lewis  looked  lonely  and  tired  and  miserable; 
and  I  could  have  cried  myself  without  making  the 
slightest  effort. 

At  last  Dorothy  concealed  her  finery  under  a  coat 
and  went  out  to  the  flivver,  her  little  nose  pink  with 
weeping.  And  Peter  and  I  followed,  after  locking 
the  bridegroom  into  his  cell  once  more.  Poor  Lewis. 
It  must  have  been  lonely  enough  there,  locked  in 
with  only  the  drooping  flowers  of  the  wedding  dec^ 
rations  to  keep  him  company. 

We  drove  silently  back  to  Fort  House,  and 
Dorothy  went  upstairs  to  change,  while  Peter  and 
I  thankfully  shed  our  formal  clothes,  and  came 
downstairs  in  soft  shirts  and  linen  trousers. 

Dorothy  remained  invisible;  but  we  two  sat  on  the 
porch,  through  a  long,  hot  afternoon,  waiting  for  a 
best  man  who  failed  to  appear.  Supper  time  came 
and  passed.  We  ate  in  silence,  except  for  Aunt 
Mary's  resigned  monologue.  Miss  Christie  wore 
another  dress;  pale  pink  this  time,  with  a  low,  square 
neck,  which  displayed  her  round,  dimpled  throat. 
She  looked  very  nice,  I  thought ;  it  was  really 
marvelous  how  she  had  changed  and  brightened  in 


SOMERS  DISGRACES  HIMSELF  179 

two  days.     She  said  almost  nothing;  but  her  big  blue 
eyes  kept  turning  toward  the  door. 

That  was  an  unpleasant  meal.  Dorothy  kept  her 
reddened  eyes  upon  her  plate ;  Peter  was  grumpy ; 
the  omelet  was  scorched,  and  Rosina  was  defiantly, 
ostentatiously  conscious  of  our  lack  of  appetite. 
She  flounced  in  and  out,  and  set  down  the  dishes 
with  a  bang.  Every  movement  said :  ''Well,  cain't 
have  parties  every  meal.  I  done  cooked  one  spread 
to-day !" 

We  finished,  and  Aunt  Mary,  still  prophesying  evil 
and  acidly  gratified  by  our  evident  disheartenment, 
had  herself  wheeled  back  to  her  own  room.  "I  might 
as  well  go  to  bed  and  read  there,"  she  announced. 
"It  does  seem,  after  being  left  alone  all  day,  that 
I  might  find  somebody  to  exchange  a  civil  word  with 
me.     But  there!     I'm   used  to  being  ignored." 

Miss  Christie  put  her  to  bed  and  presently  came 
out  to  where  we  sat  forlornly  on  the  front  porch. 
And  still  no  Somers. 

"Whatever  can  be  the  matter?"  asked  Dorothy 
anxiously.     "Do  you  suppose  he's  hurt?" 

I  thought  the  nurse's  color  faded;  her  big  eyes 
grew  bigger.     "Oh,  I  hope  not!" 

Humph !"  said  I  sourly.     "Drunk,  more  likely." 
Why,    Uncle    George    Uhlman!      That's    horrid! 
It's  not  like  you.     Of  course  he's  not  drunk." 

I  sighed.  "Well,  Dorothy,  I  hope  not.  But — 
there  he  comes  now!'*     I  rose  and  pointed. 

There  he  came,  sure  enough,  up  the  street  toward 
us,  still  in  his  braided  morning  coat,  a  wilted  flower 
in  his  button  hole,  and  that  ridiculous  police  badge 


((1 


i8o  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

pinned  on  his  narrow  chest.  His  silk  hat  was  cocked 
to  one  side  of  his  head,  and  he  held  his  head  canted 
far  to  the  other  side,  as  if  to  balance  it.  His  long 
legs  wabbled  grotesquely;  he  advanced  in  erratic 
jerks,  tacking  from  tree  to  tree,  and,  as  he  came 
closer,  we  could  hear  him  sing,  not  unmusically: 
"An'  'twas  from  ole  Satterfield's  bootleg  party,  I  was 
takin'  th'  ole  doc  home!" 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Dorothy  helplessly.  "What  shall 
we  do?" 

Somers  advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  steps  and 
paused  there,  weaving  back  and  forth  on  wide-set 
legs,  like  a  pair  of  intoxicated  dividers.  "How  do, 
f -folks?"  He  was  gravely  polite  and  tried  to  bow. 
Then  he  knocked  off  his  silk  hat,  stumbled,  and 
stepped  fair  upon  its  crown. 

"Dear  me,  dear  me!"  he  mumbled.  "S-shockin'l 
Shockin'  spectacle,  horrid  sight!  Young  p'fesshun'l 
man,  brightes'  prospec's,  ever'thing  fine,  an'  all  gone 
t'  pot  account  of  th'  demon  drink!"  He  laughed 
wildly,  then  collected  himself  by  a  tremendous  effort. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Parker."  Dorothy  started 
at  the  sound  of  her  new  name.  "I  apologize  pro- 
foundly." For  a  moment  his  enunciation  was  elabo- 
rately exact ;  he  spoke  with  drunkenly  deliberate  care. 
"Not  my  fault  entirely;  due  to  un-for-tun-ate  mis-cal- 
cul-a-tion  ca-pa-ci-ty." 

Poor  Dorothy  rose,  her  face  deadly  white  with 
disgust,  and  swept  into  the  house.  Somers  looked 
after  her  ruefully. 

"Sorry,"  he  repeated.  "Here,  Pete — unk — good 
f-fellows!    H-help  me  in;  get  sobered.    Got  n-news." 


SOMERS  DISGRACES  HIMSELF  i8i 

I  hesitated,  angry  and  ashamed;  Peter  rose  obedi- 
ently. But  Miss  Christie  was  before  us  both.  She 
ran  down  the  steps  and  caught  the  drunken  man's 
arm. 

'Til  steady  you,  doctor.  That's  right!  Now  the 
other  foot.  Are  you  coming,  you  two,  or  will  you 
sit  up  there  and  stare  like  two  old  prudes?  I'm 
ashamed  of  you,"  she  declared,  and  her  angry  face  once 
more  shone  wuth  that  vivid  beauty,  which  emotion 
alone  seemed  able  to  bring  to  it.  "Come!"  She 
stamped  her  foot.  "That's  right,  doctor;  just  one 
more  step  now.  Come!  Not  two  days  ago  this  man 
saved  your  nephew's  life,  Mr.  George  Uhlman;  he 
saved  the  life  of  your  sister's  husband,  young  man! 
Oh,  you  make  me  sick!  J-just  because  he's — he's 
overtaken  like  this!" 

We  hurried  to  her  aid,  I,  at  least,  a  trifle  ashamed 
of  myself.  For  Doctor  Somers  had  been  invaluable, 
whatever  his  personal  habits  might  be.  We  helped 
him  in  and  upstairs  to  his  room,  ordered  about  un- 
mercifuly  by  the  erstwhile  sleepy  and  indifferent 
Miss  Christie. 

"G-good  girl!"  mumbled  Somers.  *'She  un'stan's, 
anyhow.  Col'  towels,  please — an'  basin.  Goin'  be 
s-sick." 

And  sick  he  was.  Miss  Christie  attended  him, 
quietly  efficient,  as  if  the  handling  of  drunken  men 
had  been  a  large  part  of  her  training. 

"More  cold  towels,"  she  ordered.  "Mr.  Mc- 
Gregor, run  down  and  get  Rosina  to  make  some 
coffee,  very  strong.     Quick,  now!" 

We  hurried  to  obey  her.     Somers  sat  all  huddled 


i82  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

in  a  chair,  his  long  legs  limply  outthrust.  He  groaned 
and  pressed  the  wet  towel  close  against  his  temples, 
lighting  hard  for  self-possession.  I  saw  the  perspira- 
tion start  out  all  over  his  lean,  sallow  face. 

Presently  he  raised  his  head.  His  color  was 
ghastly,  greenish-white,  but  his  eyes  w^ere  clear  and 
steady.  I  saw  that  he  was  completely  sobered,  and 
I  marveled  at  the  man's  self-control. 

''Oh,  my!"  he  groaned.  "What  rotten,  rotten 
booze!     And  how  I  did  hate  it!'' 

"You  conquered  your  dislike,  apparently,"  I  said 
to  him. 

*'Humph!"  He  stared  at  me  whimsically,  but 
there  was  a  hurt  look  in  his  eyes.  "Do  you  suppose 
I  did  this  for  the  fun  of  it?  Oh,  well,  I  oughtn't 
to  blame  you." 

"/  didn't!"  said  the  nurse  serenely.  "I  knew  why 
you  did  it."  Peter  returned,  bearing  coffee;  and  the 
sick  man  gulped  it  down,  black  and  scalding. 

"You  knew?"  Somers  looked  at  the  girl  grate- 
fully. I  think  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes.  "I'm 
pretty  sick  yet,"  he  said.  "Say,  it  does  cut,  to  have 
you  folks  think  that  of  me." 

He  rose  unsteadily,  leaning  on  Miss  Christie's  arm. 
"Good  girl!"  he  repeated,  with  that  sudden,  flashing 
smile.  "Well,  I'm  Ralph  Satterfield's  very  best  friend 
now,  and,  oh,  what  a  head  it's  cost  me!  That  man's 
a  tank;  he's  copper-lined."  He  passed  a  hand  across 
his  forehead  with  a  whimsical  smile.  "But  I've 
learned  a  lot.  I  can  give  a  pretty  good  guess  as  to 
Satterfield's  whereabouts  at  the  time  Gaskell  was 
shot !" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN     EXPLANATION 

SOMERS  groaned,  rubbed  his  aching  head,  and 
drank  another  cup  of  black  coffee.  He  was 
collecting  himself  momently;  save  for  a  very  pale 
face  he  was  once  more  the  coolly  casual,  brusquely 
friendly  chap  we  all  knew. 

''Not  later  than  nine,  is  it?"  he  inquired.  "Right! 
Let's  go  downstairs.  Call  Dorothy;  I've  got  lots 
to  tell  you  all,  and  I'd  better  make  my  peace  with 
her  at  once."  He  made  a  wry  face.  "She  doesn't 
exactly  admire  me  right  now,   I'll  bet!" 

So  we  all  repaired  to  the  big  sitting  room,  and 
presently  Dorothy  appeared,  urged  in  by  her  brother, 
and  still  looking  hurt  and  disgusted.     Somers  rose. 

"Let  me  apologize,  Mrs.  Parker,"  he  began.  "No 
— I'm  perfectly  sober  now !"  He  smiled  his  warm- 
ing, whimsical  smile  as  she  made  a  little  movement 
of  distaste.  "Just  let  me  explain.  I  had  reason  to 
think  that  this  man  Satterfield  knew^  more  about 
the  murder  than  he'd  told.  You  knew  that?  Well, 
the  only  way  to  find  out  was  to  make  friends  with 
him.  If  I  could  get  his  confidence,  he  might  let 
something  out  inadvertently.  So  I  had  to  chum  up 
with  him  and  his  crowd;  I  had  to  drink  with  them, 
though  I  assure  you  it  wasn't  an  unmixed  pleasure, 
by  any  means.  Lordy,  that  raw  corn  whisky!"  He 
rubbed  his  head  again  ruefully.     "I  thought  I  could 


i84  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS  / 

drink  with  that  bunch  and  keep  my  head;  but  I  was 
mistaken."  / 

"Oh,  I  suppose  it  was  all  right,"  replied  Dorothy, 
only  half  mollified.  *'But  it  was  just  awful,  doctor, 
to  think  of  you  off  somewhere,  drinking  with  the 
very  man  who  was  going  to  hang  my — my  husband, 
tw^o  days  ago!" 

"That's  just  why  I  did  it!  Satterfield  hadn't  any 
love  for  Doctor  Gaskell,  and  it  seemed  odd  to  me 
that  he  should  be  so  bitter  against  Lewis — unless 
he  thought  he'd  be  safer  himself  if  somebody  else 
was  hung  for  that  shooting.     But  wait  till  I  tell  you. 

"In  the  first  place,  Satterfield  was  out  drinking  and 
playing  poker  that  night,  and  somebody  phoned  him 
about  four  in  the  morning,  and  he  went  out.  I  told 
you  all  that,  and  that  there  was  a  shotgun  beside 
Tulliver's  door?  Yes.  Well,  Satterfield  took  that 
gun  with  him!  That's  one  thing  I  learned  by  get- 
ting drunk,  Mrs.  Parker."  I  noticed  that  he  had 
dropped  the  familiar  "Dorothy;"  perhaps  Somers 
resented  the  girl's  attitude  just  the  least  bit  in  the 
world. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "Charlie  Bates  went  out  back 
to  the  pump  for  a  drink,  and  he  noticed  that  the 
shotgun  was  gone.  And,  when  they  all  left,  after 
Satterfield  got  back,  the  gun  stood  in  its  place  again. 
And  that's  that!" 

"Look  here,  Somers,"  I  cut  in.  "Satterfield  went 
out  at  four,  you  say?  Are  you  sure  that  was  after 
Gaskell  got  the  sick  call?" 

Somers  nodded.  "I  asked  Olsen  about  that.  He 
called    Gaskell    up    about   ten   minutes    before    four. 


AN  EXPLANATION  185 

He  thought  it  was  queer  he  didn't  come,  and  finally 
he  got  dressed  and  came  after  him  about  six.  That's 
how  he  happened  to  be  there  so  soon  after  Gaskell's 
body  was  found." 

"Well,"  I  continued  triumphantly,  "if  Gaskell  was 
sent  for  at  ten  minutes  of  four,  he  must  have  started 
across  lots  toward  Olsen's  place  pretty  soon  after 
four  o'clock.  And  he  never  got  to  Olsen's,  so  he 
must  have  been  shot  on  the  way  over.  That  would 
fix  the  killing  at  four,  or  very  soon  after;  and  my 
nephew  couldn't  have  done  it,  because  he  didn't  get 
there  until  five.  That's  easy  to  prove,  because  I  saw 
him,  and  both  Wakefield  and  I  heard  the  shot. 
Doesn't  that  clear  Lewis?" 

Somers  nodded  impatiently.  *Tf  we  could  prove 
it — yes.  Don't  you  suppose  I'd  thought  of  that,  long 
ago?  But  we  can't.  Gaskell  was  alone  in  the  house; 
his  wife  was  away,  and  the  cook  didn't  get  there 
until  seven.  He  was  sent  for  at  three-fifty,  all  right, 
but  who's  going  to  prove  he  didn't  take  an  hour  to 
get  ready?  Nobody  saw  him  except  the  murderer, 
and  we  can  hardly  expect  him  to  come  forward  and 
testify.    Now  let  me  get  back  to  it;  where  was  I? 

"Oh,  yes!  Satterfield's  daughter,  Minnie,  is  your 
night  telephone  operator.  She's  a  nice  girl,  too;  I 
made  her  acquaintance  to-day.  And  it  was  Minnie 
who  called  him  up  at  four  in  the  morning;  he  let 
that  out  to  me,  talking  about  the  affair.  I'm  pretty 
good,  you  know;  I  have  to  admit  it.  I  pumped  a 
tremendous  lot  out  of  Satterfield  and  his  gang,  and 
I  don't  believe  one  of  them  suspected  what  I  was 
after.      Satterfield   is   pretty   bitter   against   Gaskell, 


i86  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS  / 

/ 

even  now  that  he's  dead.  He  more  than  hinted  that 
the  docor  knew  more  than  was  good  for  him;  and 
he  said  one  rather  odd  thing  about  that,  to/3.  'If 
Doc  Parker  hadn't  killed  Gaskell,'  he  said,  'that  is, 
if  he  did  kill  him — why,  somebody  else  would  have 
done  it  in  a  day  or  two.  Gaskell  was  buttin'  into 
what  wasn't  none  of  his  put-in.'  What  do  you  think 
of  that  ?"  / 

We  all  stirred  excitedly;  Dorothy  glowed  at  him. 
"Why,  that's  just  wonderful!  It  was  as  good  as 
saying  he  did  it  himself.  Now  you  can  clear  my 
— my  h-husband" — faltering  a  bit  on  the  unfamiliar 
word — "as  easy  as  anything!" 

That  was  like  Dorothy.  She  was  mercurial;  by 
turns  exalted,  and  again  in  despair;  inclined  to  jump 
at  conclusions,  and,  by  reason  of  that  failing,  unjust 
at  times.  I  felt  she  had  been  unfair  to  Somers  to- 
night. But  it  was  an  impulsive,  generous  injustice, 
for  which  she  hastened  to  make  amends. 

"Will  you  forgive  me,  F-Floyd?"  she  asked  pret- 
tily. *T  know  it  was  horrid  of  me,  but  I'm  so  up- 
set !" 

He  gave  her  that  sudden,  flashing  smile.  *'Why, 
of  course,  Dorothy!  I  don't  blame  you  one  bit. 
But  it's  not  so  easy  as  all  that,  either.  We're  gradu- 
ally collecting  information,  which  may  help  the  de- 
fense somewhat,  but  we  can't  prove  anything  from 
what  Satterfield  admits  when  he's  drunk,  you  know. 
This  only  gives  us  a  start  for  further  investigation 
along  those  lines." 

He  reflected  a  moment,  his  long,  dark  face  grave 
and  mature;  looking  at  him  I  could  scarcely  realize 


AN  EXPLANATION  187 

that  this  man,  one  short  hour  ago,  had  staggered  up 
to  Fort  House,  uproariously  drunk,  and  had  put  a 
foot  through  his  silk  hat  on  the  steps. 

"There's  something  back  of  it  all,"  he  went  on 
presently.  'T'm  beginning  to  feel  that  this  murder 
is  more  complicated  than  we  had  thought.  Satter- 
field  knows  something,  I'm  sure,  whether  he  did  the 
actual  shooting  or  not.  But,  if  he  did,  I  don't  think 
it  was  merely  revenge  for  being  sent  up  for  thirty 
days.  A  month  in  jail  isn't  any  terrible  disgrace  to 
a  chap  like  that;  he's  been  in  jail  before,  I'm  told. 
No.  there  is  something  else,  something  bigger,  be- 
hind it  all;  what,  I  don't  know.  It's  irritating  be- 
cause it's  so  vague.  For  example,  Satterfield  was 
quite  apologetic  about  that  mob.  We  laughed  a  lot 
to-day  about  his  lynching  that  didn't  come  off;  my 
back's  sore  from  being  pounded.  Well,  he  hadn't 
anything  against  Doctor  Parker,  he  told  me — not 
a  thing.  Rather  grateful  to  him  than  otherwise, 
because  Gaskell  was  due  to  die  anyhow.  But  he  had 
to  stir  up  the  mob,  just  the  same.  'Couldn't  git  outa 
that,'  he  told  me.  'Things  bein'  as  they  were,  w'y, 
I  just  hadda  start  somepin  that  a  way.  So  I  passed 
round  some  white  liquor  I  had.  Have  'nother  drink, 
doc!  Lots  more  where  that  come  f'om.  I  give  th' 
boys  s'm'  corn  liquor  and  talked  it  up,  and  I  got 
'em  all  goin*  till  they  was  jus'  wild  and  r'arin'  to 
lynch  'im.  I  just  hadda  do  it,  doc!'  Now  that  was 
a  queer  wa}^  to  put  it,  I  thought.  Why  did  he  have 
to  start  a  lynching  bee?  And  who  put  him  up  to  it? 
For,  from  the  way  he  talked,  I'm  c^uite  sure  it  wasn't 
his  own  plan.    I'm  as  sure  as  I  can  be  that  he  stirred 


i88  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

up  that  mob  because  somebody  else,  somebody  in  the 
background,  somebody  we  know  nothing  about — 
yet,  ordered  him  to  do  it.  Or,  at  least,  because  he 
thought  the  lynching  would  please  this  mysterious 
somebody." 

Somers  sighed  and  rubbed  his  head,  which  ached 
furiously,  no  doubt.  "It's  all  so  confoundedly 
vague,"  he  went  on,  scowling  around  at  our  blank 
faces.  *'Can't  you  think  of  something,  any  of  you? 
Miss  Christie,  what's  your  idea?  Hello!  What's 
become  of  her?" 

We  all  turned,  but  the  couch  was  vacant.  Some 
time  during  our  talk,  while  we  were  all  absorbed  in 
Somers'  narrative,  perhaps,  the  nurse  had  slipped 
unobtrusively  out. 

"She's  gone  to  bed,  I  suppose,"  said  Dorothy. 
"You  know,  she's  an  awful  sleepyhead." 

Somers  nodded.  "Just  wait  till  she  begins  to  get 
the  effect  of  those  tablets,"  he  declared  confidently. 
"She  won't  be  then.  She  was  mighty  good  to  help 
me  out,  a  little  while  ago,  and  I  was  beastly  drunk, 
too."  He  rose  and  stretched  his  long,  emaciated 
arms  above  his  head,  groaning.  "I'll  go  to  bed,  too. 
I'm  about  done  up.  But  I'm  going  on  with  this 
thing;  I'm  going  to  find  out  what's  behind  it  all, 
what  mysterious  person  planned  Gaskell's  death.  For 
I'm  sure  his  death  was  planned  and  ordered.  Satter- 
field  thinks  so,  anyhow.  And  I'll  have  it  out  of  him 
yet;  I'll  find  out  all  he  knows,  even  if  I  have  to  get 
drunk  on  his  moonshine  seven  nights  in  the  week!" 

He  paused,  fingering  his  chin,  and  looked  half  hu- 
morously, half  apprehensively,  at  the  new  Mrs.   C. 


AN  EXPLANATION  189 

Lewis  Parker.  ''I  forgot,"  he  drawled.  "After  all 
I'm  here,  officially,  only  as  Parker's  best  man.  Now 
the  wedding's  over  I  ought  to  be  going.  Besides,  it'll 
be  unpleasant  for  you,  to  say  the  least,  if  I  have  to 
come  back  half-seas-over  every  night.  I'll  go  to  the 
hotel,  or  perhaps  Uncle  George  will  let  me  bach  in 
with  him  for  a  while?" 

But  Dorothy  would  have  none  of  that.  "You're 
being  mean,"  she  declared,  "and  you  needn't  be  hor- 
rid, just  because  I  was.  You'll  stay  right  here  at 
Fort  House,  both  of  you!  We've  got  lots  of  room, 
and  I  don't  care  what  Aunt  Mary  says,  either!  I'm 
a  married  woman  now;  and,  besides,  Peter's  here; 
and  I  guess  I  can  have  company  if  I  want  to!  And 
I'll  be  so  1-lonesome  until  Lewis  comes  back,  and 
s-scared,  too,  with  that  nasty  Poltergeist,  and  think- 
ing of  Doctor  Gaskell  killed  right  under  my  win- 
dows, almost,  and — and  everything!"  She  dabbed  at 
her  eyes,  and  patted  her  brother's  hand,  as  he  mur- 
mured something.  "Oh,  you're  good,  Peter,  dear, 
and  it's  a  comfort  to  have  you,  but  Floyd  would  be 
just  miserable  over  there,  with  nobody  but  an  old 
colored  woman  to  look  after  him.  You'll  stay  here, 
won't  you,   Floyd,  and  you.  Uncle  George?" 

We  promised,  of  course;  who  would  not? 


CHAPTER  XX 

A    FLIRTATION 

NEXT  morning  Doctor  Somers  rose  early.  I 
heard  him  splashing  in  the  bathroom,  slapping 
his  razor  against  its  strop,  whistling  louder  and 
shriller  than  the  ubiquitous  quail  outside.  I  was 
fagged  out  and  irritable;  his  cheerfulness  annoyed 
me.  A  man  who  had  been  drunk  last  night  should 
be  more  subdued,  I  thought. 

I  pounded  on  the  bathroom  door.  "Shut  up, 
man!"  I  called.     "You're  worse  than  the  bobwhites!'' 

I  heard  a  chuckle  from  within.  " 'Smatter,  unk? 
Get  up  on  the  wrong  side?  Cheer-i-o,  old  thing! 
So  you  prefer  the  birds,  do  you?" 

And  straightway  he  fell  to  imitating  the  shrill  call 
of  the  quail:  ''Bohwhite!     BohzMte!'' 

I  grinned  helplessly.  What  could  be  done  with 
such  a  man?  "Better  cut  that  out,"  I  warned  him. 
"You'll  catch  it  at  breakfast,  if  Aunt  Mary  hears 
you." 

That  silenced  him.  Presently  he  emerged,  shaved 
to  a  miracle,  the  heavy  beard  showing  blue  beneath 
his  dark  skin.  "Aren't  I  pretty,  unk?  Going  out  in 
society   to-day!" 

He  came  down  to  breakfast  in  a  gorgeous  pongee 
silk  suit,  whose  fitted  coat  and  tight,  creased  trousers 
made  him  more  incredibly  thin  and  angular  than 
usual.      He   bowed   grotesquely,    struck   an   attitude, 


A  FLIRTATION  191 

knuckles  on  hip,  looking  rather  like  those  tiny  figures 
of  some  cartoonist,  whose  bodies  are  made  of  one 
straight  line;  he  was  almost  as  thin  as  that.  The 
slender  Malacca  cane,  which  he  brandished,  seemed 
as  thick  as  his  long  legs. 

"Uncle  George,  I  want  the  flivver  to-day,"  he  an- 
nounced.    *T'm  going  for  a  drive  with  my  best  girl." 

"Humph!"  said  I.     "Is  she  blind?" 

"Not  yet,  but  this  rig  may  put  her  eye  out" 

*'Very  likely,"  I  told  him  grimly.  "All  right ;  take 
the  car." 

"Who's  going  with  you?"  asked  Dorothy  curiously. 

Aunt  Mary  had  not  appeared;  she  w^as  taking 
breakfast  in  bed,  it  seemed.  But  the  nurse  was  there, 
quiet  and  unobtrusive  as  always,  eyes  on  her  plate. 
At  our  hostess'  question  I  fancied  that  the  color  rose 
in  her  cheeks. 

"Miss  Minnie  Satterfield,"  said  Somers.  "She 
works  at  night,  unfortunately;  but  she's  going  to  get 
up  early  this  morning,  and  we're  driving  to  Jackson 
Springs  for  lunch." 

He  ate  hurriedly  and  pushed  back  his  chair.  "Ex- 
cuse me?  I've  got  a  lot  of  running  round  to  do;  I 
want  to  drop  in  and  see  Parker,  too.  It  would  never 
do  to  keep  Miss  Satterfield  waiting.  She's  a  very 
pretty  girl." 

Somers  disappeared,  and  Dorothy  looked  at  me 
askance.  "He  doesn't  seem  exactly  reluctant,"  she 
murmured.  "Oh,  I  know.  Uncle  George,  he's  doing 
it  to  help  Lewis,  but  it  does  seem  as  if 
he  could  go  about  it  some  other  way  than  getting 
drunk  at  night  and  chasing  round  with  pretty  girls 


192  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

all  day.  I  keep  thinking  of  my  poor  husband,  locked 
up  alone  in  that  horrid  j-jail,  and  Doctor  Somers 
enjoying  himself  like  this!  You  needn't  tell  me  that 
he  hated  so  to  get  drunk,"  she  went  on  stubbornly. 
*'And  now  it's  that  Minnie  Satterfield!  You've  seen 
her,  Peter?  She's  just  awfully  pretty,  and  you  know 
what  her  father  is!" 

My  nephew's  bride  was  rather  uncharitably  in- 
clined. ''My  dear,"  I  told  her  mildly,  "that's  not  the 
poor  girl's  fault." 

Miss  Christie  rose  abruptly  and  pushed  back  her 
chair.  "I — I  must  see  to  Miss  McGregor,"  she  mur- 
mured. Her  plump  face  was  scarlet,  her  big  eyes 
flamed. 

We  saw  no  more  of  Doctor  Somers  that  day.  The 
time  went  slowly  enough.  Dorothy  and  I  visited  my 
nephew.  The  wedding  decorations  had  all  been  taken 
down,  but  the  young  lady's  housewifely  eye  detected 
dried  leaves  and  petals  in  a  corner,  and  straightway 
she  dispatched  me  after  a  broom  and  dustpan. 

'Tf  my  very  own  husband's  got  to  live  in  this 
miserable  old  jail,  I'm  going  to  keep  it  clean  for 
him,  at  least!"  she  announced. 

I  brought  the  required  implements,  and  Dorothy 
fell  to  work  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  "A  fine  sort  of 
jailer,  that  man  Wakefield,"  she  declared.  "The 
place  hasn't  been  swept  out  in  months!" 

While  she  bustled  about,  setting  things  to  rights 
wnth  the  prideful,  loving  care  of  the  new-made  house- 
wife, Lewis  watched  her  slim  form  with  wistful  eyes. 
Poor  boy!  Already  his  confinement  was  telling  on 
him.     His  face  was  pale  and  worn,  and  he  seemed 


A  FLIRTATION  193 

thinner,  older,  more  conscious  of  his  responsibiUties. 
I  fancied  that,  if  he  were  free,  my  nephew's  hot  tem- 
per would  be  under  better  control.  This  experience, 
however  bitterly  bought,  was  maturing  him  fast. 

I  sat  back,  watching  this  pitiful  bride  and  groom; 
and  the  girl's  happy  activity,  her  housewifely  care, 
the  whole  pathetic  travesty  of  a  honeymoon,  brought 
tears  to  my  old  eyes.     I  rose  abruptly. 

"This  dust  is  too  much  for  me."  Then  I  blew 
my  nose.  *T'll  sit  on  the  steps  a  while,  children,  till 
you  get  through." 

On  the  steps  I  sat  and  glowered  down  at  the  ab- 
surd deputy-sherifif's  star  which  I  wore.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  I  was  the  unhappiest  jailer  who  was 
ever  forced  to  sunder  loving  hearts. 

Aunt  Mary  appeared  at  luncheon  in  an  unusually 
subdued,  amiable  mood.  Indeed  the  old  lady  seemed 
much  changed  of  late;  the  cloud  of  trouble,  which 
had  settled  over  Fort  House  had  left  its  mark  upon 
her,  also.  At  times  she  was  more  querulous,  more 
irritable  and  exacting,  than  I  had  ever  seen  her; 
and  again  she  was  kinder,  more  thoughtful  of  others. 
In  the  midst  of  her  sharpest  mood  she  would  soften 
suddenly  and  be  so  kindly,  so  pathetically  sweet,  that 
one  could  not  but  pity  her  and  forgive  her  the  stabs 
which  she  inflicted  upon  us  all.  Her  face  had 
changed  subtly,  grown  thinner,  more  sharply  lined. 
Its  former  expression  of  sweetly  pathetic  resignation, 
which  I  had  grown  to  believe,  uncharitably,  was  as- 
sumed for  the  provoking  of  sympathy,  was  in  evi- 
dence less  often.  Now  her  softly  faded  countenance 
>vore  a  look  of  honest  pain,  of  mental  anguish,  not 


194         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

unmixed  with  human  resentment.  And  I,  for  one, 
fancied  it  much  more  than  the  old  expression  of 
strained,  angelic  sweetness. 

To-day  she  merely  played  with  her  food;  though, 
as  a  rule,  even  when  she  suffered  most  from  the 
"knots  in  her  neck,"  her  appetite  was  not  visibly 
affected.  She  said  nothing;  and,  when  Dorothy 
spoke  sadly  of  Lewis'  lonely  meal  in  the  lockup,  she 
burst  quite  suddenly  into  broken  weeping  and  had  to 
be  wheeled  back  to  her  room. 

Dorothy  looked  at  me,  then  at  Peter,  almost  with 
awe.  ''Why,''  she  exclaimed,  ''auntie  is  really  upset! 
She's  really  thinking  about  somebody  else  for  once. 
Oh,  Peter,  we  must  be  kindef  to  her." 

And  she  was,  I  think,  even  more  thoughtful  of  her 
aunt  than  usual,  all  through  that  long,  weary  week, 
though  to  my  mind  she  had  never  failed  in  forbear- 
ance. It  was  a  long  week,  that  one!  A  tedious, 
dreary  time,  that  taxed  the  patience  of  us  all.  Lewis 
grew  somber,  depressed,  almost  morose.  He  could 
see  nothing  before  him  but  darkness:  the  meeting 
time  of  the  grand  jury  came  closer  and  closer,  and 
he  would  not  be  convinced  but  that  they  would  bring 
in  a  true  bill  against  him. 

"That  district  attorney,  solicitor,  as  they  call  him 
down  here,  that  man  Vanbrugh  will  see  to  that/'  he 
predicted  gloomily.  'There's  no  possible  chance  that 
they  won't  indict  me;  we  might  as  well  make  up  our 
minds  to  that." 

At  once  Dorothy  would  strive  to  comfort  and 
encourage  him;  and  then  she  would  break  down  and 


A  FLIRTATION  195 

cry  on  his  shoulder  and  beg  him  indignantly  to  send 
for  a  lawyer,  to  hire  detectives — anything! 

^'Because,  dearest,  that  Doctor  Somers  isn't  doing 
one  thing  to  help  us — not  a  single  thing!  He's  just 
out  riding  round  all  day  with  that  Satterfield  girl,  the 
bold,  hard  thing!  And  in  your  flivver,  too!  And 
out  till  all  hours,  every  night,  and  coming  in  drunk, 
and  everything  like  that.  He's  a  fine  friend,  I  must 
say !" 

Lewis  and  Peter  and  I  would  try  to  soothe  her, 
pointing  out  all  Somers  had  done,  reminding  her  that 
even  this  intimacy  was  carried  on  in  the  hope  of 
extracting  further  information  from  Ralph  Satter- 
field.    But  Dorothy  would  shake  a  stubborn  head. 

"You  needn't  tell  me  he's  doing  it  all  for  Lewis! 
It's  just  because  he  likes  to  get  drunk  and  chase  over 
the  country  with  that — that  thing!  So  there!"  A 
mercurial  young  person  was  Dorothy,  as  I  have 
said,  prone  to  injustice  at  times.  But  she  was  not 
too  much  to  blame,  perhaps;  it  was  a  terrible  situa- 
tion for  any  bride. 

And  Somers'  conduct  rather  worried  me,  also. 
Day  after  day  he  rose  late,  flattered  and  cajoled 
Rosina  into  preparing  him  an  extra  breakfast,  climbed 
into  Lewis'  flivver  and  disappeared.  Sometimes  he 
would  be  back  for  lunch  or  dinner — often  late — and 
again  he  would  not  return  until  midnight  or  later. 
Then  he  would  stumble  in,  half  drunk.  He  never 
returned  again  in  the  condition  which  had  disgraced 
Dorothy's  wedding  day;  he  was  always  able  to  navi- 
gate after  a  fashion,  and  he  made  no  great  disturb- 


196  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

ance  getting  to  his  room.  But  every  night  he  had 
been  drinking;  that  was  not  hard  to  know. 

Once  or  twice  Peter  and  I  waited  up  for  him; 
then  we  gave  up  in  disgust.  Curiously  it  was  Miss 
Christie,  the  somnolent  nurse,  who  used  to  doze  the 
evenings  through  on  the  couch,  it  was  this  girl  who 
never  failed  to  sit  up  against  Somers'  erratic  appear- 
ances. "Go  to  bed  if  you  like/'  she  would  say,  "I'll 
wait.  He — he  might  need  somebody.  And  I  re- 
member, if  the  rest  of  you  don't,  that  he's  doing  this 
for  you!'' 

Miss  Christie,  too,  had  altered  greatly.  I  saw  the 
change  in  her  from  day  to  day.  Whether  it  was 
Doctor  Somers'  pills  or  some  more  subtle  medica- 
ment, she  grew  more  vivid,  more  alive.  Her  bovine 
calm  altered;  she  yawned  no  more;  life  seemed  to 
have  taken  on  newer,  fresher  colors  to  her.  No 
longer  did  she  doze  the  evenings  away;  and  in  the 
mornings  she  appeared  at  breakfast  as  fresh  and 
alert  as  Dorothy,  not  dull  and  somnolent,  as  a  fort- 
night ago.  She  lost  flesh;  her  overplump  figure  grew 
willowy.  Her  round  face  changed,  and  with  the 
passing  of  its  superfluous  flesh  grew  shapelier.  It 
was  as  though  some  delicate,  spiritual  chisel  were 
at  work,  carving  new  planes  of  beauty,  bringing  out 
clearly  the  rare  loveliness  her  moments  of  deep  feel- 
ing had  hitlierto  promised. 

I  rhapsodize,  no  doubt,  and  rhapsodies  are  out  of 
place,  coming  from  a  battered,  disillusioned  old 
rheumatic.  But  I  cannot  exaggerate  the  change 
wrought  in  Anne  Christie.  Even  in  that  time  of 
deep  discouragement  the  miracle  impressed  me.     She 


A  FLIRTATION  i97 

was  no  longer  stolid,  unresponsive;  a  new  mobility 
curved  her  lips,  a  new  light  shone  in  her  violet  eyes; 
a  new  animation  imbued  her  fair  face,  as  her  ex- 
pression changed  constantly  with  each  nuance  of 
thought,  and  her  delicate  color  ebbed  and  flowed 
charmingly. 

*T'll  wait  up  for  the  doctor!"  she  insisted.  "He's 
doing  this  for  you,  but  look  at  what  he's  done  for 
me  .  I  feel  so  much  better  in  every  way;  it's  wi-n- 
derful!     And  I'm  grateful,  if  you-all  aren't!" 

And  so  the  time  passed  until  the  meeting  of  the 
Carabas  County  grand  jury  for  July  was  only  one 
day  off;  and  still  nothing  more  was  done  for  Lewis. 
It  was  settled  that  his  case  should  be  considered  first ; 
and  I  could  see  nothing  ahead  of  him  but  an  indict- 
ment. 

That  evening  Doctor  Somers  appeared  in  time  for 
supper;  and,  for  once,  he  was  cold  sober.  He  left 
the  flivver  at  the  curb,  climbed  the  broad  steps 
wearily  and  entered  the  big  sitting  room,  where  I 
sat  with  Dorothy  and  Peter. 

"Oh,  lordy!"  he  groaned,  thrusting  his  long,  lean 
legs  straight  out  before  him.  "I'm  done  up.  But  it's 
over  now,  thank  goodness!" 

He  did  look  tired.  His  sallow  face  was  almost 
colorless;  his  thin  cheeks  were  hollower  than  ever, 
and  his  eyes  were  sunk  deep  into  their  sockets.  Even 
his  arms  and  legs  seemed  thinner,  if  that  were  pos- 
sible. Miss  Christie  came  in,  her  color  a  trifle  higher 
than  usual.  Her  eyes  brightened  at  sight  of  Somers, 
I  thought,  and  I  wondered  if  she  had  heard  him 
enter.       The     doctor     looked     her     over     critically. 


198  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

''You're  improving,"  he  drawled,  with  impersonal  ap- 
proval.    ''I  knew  thyroid  was  what  you  needed." 

The  girl  stood  silent,  eyes  downcast,  her  cheeks 
pink. 

Well,"  continued  Somers,  and  paused  to  yawn. 
It's  over  now.  If  we  ought  to  get  a  bit  of  action 
to-morrow,  as  I  hope,  I  shan't  have  to  drink  any  more 
of  Satterfield's  beastly  liquor.  You  know" — with 
one  of  those  sudden  changes  of  subject  so  character- 
istic of  him — ''they  put  chewing  tobacco  into  this 
moonshine  down  here — and  concentrated  lye,  to  give 
it  a  bead.  Bah!  And  I'm  through  with  Minnie,  too 
— shan't  have  to  listen  to  her  giggle  any  more  atall !" 

He  looked  vastly  relieved  at  the  prospect;  and  so, 
I  thought,  did  Miss  Christie. 

"But,"  protested  Dorothy  maliciously,  "that's  not 
quite  kind,  is  it?  Here  you've  been  making  love  to 
that  girl  for  a  week  and  more;  you've  engaged  her 
young  affections,  and  now  you're  going  to  jilt  her!" 

"Yes,"  declared  Somers,  in  his  characteristic  drawl, 
half  whimsically,  half  bitterly,  "I'm  a  fine  figure  of  a 
lover,  ain't  I?  Handsome,  robust,  and  muscular!" 
His  eyes  traveled  down  over  the  lank,  skinny  length 
of  him.     "I'm  a  handsome  devil,  what?" 

"You  are  so!"  exclaimed  Anne  Christie.  Then 
she  bit  her  lip,  and  a  hot  flush  dyed  her  face  to  the 
very  roots  of  her  fair  hair. 

"But  you  may  set  your  mind  at  rest,  Mrs.  Parker," 
Somers  went  on,  mercifully  ignoring  Anne's  con- 
fusion. "It's  me  that's  jilted,  not  the  fair  Minnie. 
A  burly  person,  named  Conover,  has  cut  me  out. 
You  see,  he  owns  a  real  car,  and  I  only  had  a  bor- 


A  FLIRTATION  199 

rowed  flivver.  Minnie  won*t  miss  me.  And  I've 
found  out  what  I  wanted  to — all  I  hoped  to,  at  any 
rate.  Peter,  do  you  want  to  go  out  scouting  with 
me  to-morrow?" 

"It's  about  time  something  was  done!"  exclaimed 
Dorothy.     **The  grand  jury  meets  to-morrow!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AN    ILLICIT    ENTERPRISE 

NEXT  morning,  very  early  indeed,  we  three  men 
set  out  in  Lewis*  faithful  little  car,  for  I 
refused  to  be  left  behind. 

"Maybe  I  am  old,"  I  protested,  *'and  I  know  I'm 
rheumatic;  but  I  can  keep  up  with  you  fellows  yet. 
Vm  just  as  much  interested  in  getting  Lewis  out  of 
jail  as  you  possibly  can  be." 

Somers  accepted  my  company  rather  ungraciously, 
commandeered  the  field  glasses,  which  Peter  had 
brought  back  from  France,  and  his  army  automatic. 
"For,"  he  explained,  "we  might  have  trouble." 

He  drove  the  panting  flivver  up  the  hill  behind 
Fort  House,  then  along  the  main  road  toward  Hokes- 
ville,  ten  miles  away.  Two  miles  outside  the  village 
he  turned  abruptly  to  the  left,  into  one  of  the  in- 
numerable sandy  tracks,  which  wound  away  through 
the  stumps  and  scrub  oaks  on  either  side.  This  coun- 
try was  all  lumbered  over,  thirty  years  ago;  for 
miles  our  roads  run  through  a  bleak  desert  of  oak 
saplings  and  dwarf  pines,  too  small  even  for  fire- 
wood, with  here  and  there  a  tall,  lone,  half-dead  pine 
tree,  whose  trunk  bears  the  old  scars  of  the  turpen- 
tiners,  mourning  the  vanished  forest,  dying  of  lone- 
liness for  its  mates,  who  have  long  since  been 
changed  into  houses  and  mine  timbers  and  the  spars 
of  ships. 


AN  ILLICIT  ENTERPRISE  201 

It  is  a  desolate  country,  which  has  been  burned 
over  and  reburned,  until  no  grass  will  grow,  and  the 
pale  sand  lies  naked  and  arid  between  the  scrub 
oaks  and  dwarf  pines,  or  stretches  for  acres,  black 
and  forbidding,  with  the  ash  of  recent  fires,  which 
rises  in  choking  clouds  at  every  step.  Through  it 
the  main  roads  wind  as  through  a  wilderness,  though 
in  the  sand  hills  one  finds  the  best  land  for  peaches, 
tobacco,  or  cotton,  which  our  State  affords.  But 
the  roads  run  over  the  hills,  and  the  arable  land  lies 
in  bottoms,  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  The 
farmhouses  are  there,  too,  quite  out  of  sight  from 
the  roads.  To  reach  them  one  must  turn  into  a 
narrow,  sandy  track,  such  as  ran  on  before  us  now, 
winding  between  blackened  stumps;  a  track  indis- 
tinguishable to  the  stranger  from  the  dozens  of  tote 
roads  made  by  long  gone  lumbermen,  which  lead 
nowhere.  It  is  a  difficult  country  for  the  motorist 
with   engine  trouble. 

The  road  we  followed  brought  us  to  no  farmhouse. 
It  wound  on  and  on  among  pine  stumps  and  scrub 
oaks,  sw^erving  to  dodge  rotten  logs  here  and  there, 
leading  us  through  unexpected  patches  of  vivid 
bloom,  through  burnt-over  areas,  where  the  dust  rose 
blindingly.  At  last  it  dipped  into  a  hollow,  where 
tall  pines  still  grew,  untouched  by  the  ax,  and  ran 
across  a  creek — a  ''branch,"  they  call  them  here — 
through  which  the  flivver  splashed  vigorously  and 
stopped  abruptly  on  the  rise  of  the  hill  beyond. 

Somers  snapped  off  the  ignition  and  clambered  out. 
**Come  on,"  he  said;  "we  walk  from  here." 

He  led  the  way  up  a  steep,   sandy  slope,   which 


202  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

gave  treacherously  beneath  our  feet.  Burrs  clung  to 
my  trousers,  and  I  clutched  at  brambles  and  tore 
my  hands.  Then  we  came  suddenly  and  simultane- 
ously to  the  top  of  the  hill  and  the  edge  of  the  pine 
grove.  Before  us  was  a  thin  screen  of  bushes  and 
scrub  oaks,  and  beyond  that  a  wide,  bare,  rolling 
plain.  Below  us  was  a  small  cornfield;  and  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away  I  saw  the  dark  green  of  tobacco; 
but,  for  the  most  part,  the  ground  was  fallow,  cov- 
ered thinly  with  bunch  grass,  already  turning  yellow 
in  the  July  sun. 

Near  the  tobacco  field  was  a  small,  bare,  log  struc- 
ture, its  interstices  well  plastered,  a  brick  fireplace 
opening  outward  upon  its  hither  side,  a  drying  house 
for  tobacco,  such  as  are  scattered  all  over  this  State. 
Save  for  that  the  plain  was  empty;  it  held  no  human 
habitation,  nor  any  sign  of  man. 

*'Humph!"  said  I.  "What  are  we  going  to  do 
here?" 

Somers  grinned.  "Looks  innocent  enough,  doesn't 
it?  A  tobacco  field  and  a  drying  house;  some  cot- 
ton"— he  pointed  to  a  field  beyond  the  tobacco,  which 
I  had  not  noticed — "and  a  little  of  last  year's  crop 
piled  under  a  shed.  Bad  year  for  cotton,  you  know; 
farmers  are  holding  that  in  hopes  of  another  forty- 
cent  market.     But  just  you  wait  and  watch!" 

Even  as  he  spoke  I  saw  a  team  of  mules  emerge 
from  the  pines  beyond  the  clearing.  They  drew  a 
creaking  wagon  loaded  with  something  bulky ;  at 
that  distance  I  could  not  make  out  what  it  was. 

Somers  focused  Peter's  field  glasses.  "One,  two, 
five   bales,"   he   counted.      "There's   money   on   that 


AN  ILLICIT  ENTERPRISE  203 

wagon,  link!     What?     Bales  of  cotton,  that's  what 
they  are.     But  you  watch!" 

The  wagon  creaked  slowly  on;  it  seemed  to  crawl. 
I  waited  impatiently  for  what  seemed  an  hour,  but 
was  really  fifteen  minutes,  I  suppose.  Then  the 
mules  reached  the  drying  house  and  stopped.  I  heard 
very  faintly  that  queer,  crooning  whistle  our  teamsters 
use  instead  of  the  Northern  "Whoa!" 

The  door  of  the  log  hut  opened ;  two  men  emerged. 
*'Who  are  they,  man?"  I  asked  eagerly.  "Here,  give 
me  the  glass!" 

"Wait!"  ordered  Somers.  "Ralph  Satterfield  and 
Charlie  Bates.  I  don't  know  the  man  on  the  wagon 
— some  old  chap  with  a  long  beard.  Now  they're 
beginning — now  look  !'^ 

He  thrust  the  glasses  into  my  hands,  and  I  focused 
them  with  trembling  fingers.  Then  the  distant  scene 
leaped  into  my  eyes — the  log  house,  the  miules,  the 
men,  almost  lifesize.  They  had  unloaded  the  wagon 
and  were  cutting  the  wires,  tearing  the  bales  of  cot- 
ton apart! 

"What  on  earth?"  I  asked  in  a  whisper.  They 
seemed  so  close  that  I  feared  they  would  hear  me. 
"What  are  they  doing?     Ah-h!" 

I  could  see  now.  The  loose  cotton  of  the  first 
bale  fell  away,  revealing  the  rounded  outlines  of  a 
keg — no,  a  full-sized  barrel.     "Is — is  it " 

Somers  nodded  grimly.  "It  is!  Whisky,  a  barrel 
in  each  bale.  Worth  two  thousand  dollars  a  barrel 
at  bootleg  prices.  They're  doing  this  by  wholesale, 
unk!     Pinelands  could  never  consume  all  that  booze. 


204  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

They  must  be  shipping  it  North.     I  wonder,   now, 
how  they  camouflage  it  on  the  next  lap?" 

Peter  reached  impatiently  after  the  glasses,  but 
I  put  him  back.  ''Wait,  just  one  minute,  boy.  I 
want  to  see." 

The  back  of  that  huge,  booted  stranger,  who  had 
driven  the  wagon,  seemed  oddly  familiar.  Satter- 
field  and  Bates  I  recognized  readily  enough;  they 
faced  me.  But  this  other?  I  felt  that  I  must  know 
him,  too;  if  he  would  only  turn! 

"Ah-h-h!"  I  sighed.  'T  know  him,  too!  Here, 
Peter."  I  thrust  the  field  glasses  at  him  and  turned 
to  Somers.  "Man,  I  know  that  big  fellow  with  the 
whiskers!  That's  Lafe  Rutledge — Roaring  Lafe, 
he  calls  himself.  And  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  the 
only  time  I  ever  saw  him,  was  on  Doctor  Gaskell's 
front  porch,  the  day  before  the  murder.  He  was 
shouting  at  the  maid  that  Gaskell  had  until  sun-up  to 
settle  with  him!" 

"Humph!"  said  Doctor  Somers.  Then  he  drew 
us  back,  and  we  retreated  cautiously  through  the 
pines  and  down  the  long  slope  to  where  the  flivver 
stood.     Here  our  leader  stopped. 

"You  both  got  a  good  look?"  he  asked.  "You 
could  swear  to  all  three  of  those  men?" 

We  nodded.  "But  of  course  we  don't  knozv  there 
was  whisky  in  those  barrels,"  objected  Peter.  "We 
couldn't  swear  to  that." 

Somers  chuckled.  "You  needn't,  old  son.  I'm  no 
prohibition  agent,  you  know,  but  we've  got  to  con- 
vince Satterfield  that  we've  got  this  on  him.     Uncle 


AN  ILLICIT  ENTERPRISE  20= 


George  there  would  be  a  bad  liar,  I'm  afraid.  No 
doubt  you'd  do  better  at  it." 

Peter  bowed  in  mock  acknowledgment  of  this 
dubious  compliment.  "But  what  are  you  after?" 
he  asked.  ''Let's  get  it  straight,  so  we  can  back  you 
up;  the  virtuous  Mr.  Uhlman  to  the  limits  of  fact, 
and  me  all  the  rest  of  the  way." 

"Vm  as  good  a  liar  as  either  of  you  boys!"  I 
protested,  somewhat  hurt,  and  they  both  laughed 
uproariously. 

*'Here  it  is,  then,"  said  Somers  more  seriously. 
*'By  hanging  around  Minnie  Satterfield  and  drinking 
with  her  father  I've  learned  a  lot  about  this  busi- 
ness. They're  handling  corn  whisky,  moonshine,  by 
wholesale.  It's  made  up  in  the  mountains  and 
brought  down  here  once  or  twice  a  week,  sometimes 
by  truck  and  sometimes,  like  to-day,  on  a  lumber 
wagon.  It's  only  about  forty  miles,  you  know. 
They  make  the  trip  a  different  w^ay  every  time,  and 
a  different  man  drives,  so  nobody'll  notice.  The 
whisky  com.es  in  barrels,  hidden  in  a  fake  cotton 
bale,  or  in  kegs  put  up  in  grocery  boxes,  like  canned 
goods.  They  notify  Satterfield  by  phone,  at  night; 
makes  it  awfully  handy  to  have  Minnie  as  operator, 
you  see;  saves  a  leak  at  this  end.  And  Sat- 
terfield meets  them  out  here.  I  had  a  time  lo- 
cating this  place  and  finding  a  way  to  get  out  here 
W'ithout  being  seen.  Then  I  wasn't  sure  but  the 
booze  would  come  out  that  road  we  took,  and  they'd 
find  the  flivver;  in  which  case,  Peter,  your  pistol 
might  have  been  useful. 

''Well,  they  repack  the  liquor  here;  I  don't  know 


2o6  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

how.  Bates  hauls  it  down  to  Pinelands,  or  over  to 
Hokesville,  along  with  his  peach  crop — he  has  an 
orchard  over  beyond  the  clearing — and  ships  it  North. 
Oh,   it's  a  flourishing  business  which   they  do! 

"And  here's  my  scheme.  If  Satterfield  didn't  kill 
Gaskell  himself,  and  I'm  beginning  to  doubt  that — ■ 
I  got  pretty  intimate  with  him,  you  know — if  he 
didn't  do  it,  he  knows  who  did,  and  why.  Doctor 
Gaskell  found  something,  I  imagine ;  located  this 
cache,  perhaps,  and  the  gang  decided  to  wipe  him 
out  before  he  could  squeal.  Gaskell  was  a  mighty 
decent  chap,  they  say,  not  one  to  stand  for  boot- 
legging. I  don't  think  Satterfield  did  the  killing  him- 
self, but  he  knows  something.  Now  to-night  we'll 
corner  him  and  call  for  a  showdown.  Then  what  w^e 
find  out  will  depend  on  whether  he's  more  afraid  of 
being  arrested  for  murder  or  of  losing  his  job.  And 
these  mountaineer  liquor  runners  are  pretty  tough 
characters,  some  of  them.  It's  quite  possible  that  he 
will  take  a  chance  of  being  tried  for  the  shooting, 
rather  than  let  the  rest  of  his  gang  believe  he's  turned 
them  up.     Get  me?" 

*'We  do,  old  top!''  declared  Peter.  "We  sure  do! 
Oh,  boy,  you've  got  a  bean.  We'll  have  this  little 
old  murder  cleared  up  like  winking,  and  Parker  ready 
to  take  his  wife  into  that  little  red-and- white  bunga- 
low as  soon  as  they  planned — even  if  this  has  been  a 
pretty  tough  honeymoon  for  both  of  them." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  SHOWDOWN 

SOMERS  clambered  into  the  little  car.  "You 
crank  her,  Pete,"  he  ordered  languidly.  "Vm 
the  brains  of  this  combination;  you  can  be  the 
brawn." 

"Long-legged,  lazy  beggar!"  retorted  Peter.  He 
stooped  his  five  feet  four  in  front  of  the  hood,  set 
his  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  against  its  crank, 
and  stopped  to  grin.  *'And  the  brains  match  the 
brawn,"   he   jeered.      "Both   lightweights.'' 

Somers'  retort  was  lost  in  the  roar  of  the  motor. 
"Climb  in,  Peter!"  he  yelled.  "Those  chaps  might 
hear  us;  it  isn't  more  than  half  a  mile.  We  want 
to  be  out  of  gunshot  before  they  come  barging  over 
that  hill!" 

Turning  the  little  car  he  bumped  off  at  a  round 
pace,  splashing  through  the  branch,  bouncing  and 
creaking  over  tree  roots,  and  skidding  through  the 
loose  sand.  The  pace  he  maintained  was  racking  to 
my  old  bones,  and  I  prayed  for  the  springs  of  Lewis' 
flivver.  But  the  bones  and  the  springs  held,  by  the 
especial  grace  of  Heaven,  though  I  heaved  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief  when  we  swung  at  last  into  the  clay 
road. 

We  got  back  to  Fort  House  without  mishap,  and 
there  Somers  left  us.  "I'll  drive  around  and  leave 
word  for  Satterfield,"  he  said.  "He'll  be  busy  out 
yonder  for  a  while  yet,  but  we  ought  to  catch  him 


2o8  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

before  evening.  Where  would  be  a  good  place  for 
a  quiet  talk?" 

*'Why  not  at  our  house?"  I  asked.  "We  could 
have  him  in  my  nephew's  office  there.  The  place  has 
been  closed  up  since  Lewis  was  arrested.  There's  no- 
body there." 

'That'll  be  fine,"  replied  Somers.  *T'll  leave  word 
for  Satterfield,  and  after  lunch  we  can  go  over  there 
and  wait  for  him." 

He  rattled  off  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  evil-smelling 
smoke,  while  Peter  and  I  went  into  the  house.  It 
was  almost  noon;  the  morning  had  passed  quickly 
enough.     Somers  returned  in  time  for  lunch. 

''They  expect  him  back  about  two,"  he  reported. 
"I  told  them  to  send  him  over  to  your  place,  Uhl- 
man,  as  soon  as  he  comes  in.  I  hinted  at  a  little 
quiet  game;  that'll  bring  him,  if  anything." 

*'Show-down,"  declared  Peter  grimly. 

We  evaded  Dorothy's  eager  questions  as  best  we 
might;  all  three  of  us  felt,  I  suppose,  that  it  was  best 
not  to  raise  her  hopes  too  high,  for  fear  of  the  in- 
evitable reaction,  should  our  enterprise  fail.  She  had 
been  bubbling  with  optimism  so  often;  and  so  often 
she  had  drooped  again,  disappointed  and  inclined  to 
blame  us  for  her  disappointment.  Directly  after 
lunch  we  slipped  out.  Somers  pacified  his  hostess  by 
handing  her  the  jail  key,  which  he  still  kept  much 
more  constantly  than  did  the  constable. 

''Here,  child,  I  appoint  you  a  deputy-deputy  sheriff 
for  this  afternoon.  Parker  had  his  breakfast,  and 
his  lunch;  I  routed  out  Wakefield  and  saw  to  that. 
Now  trot  down  there  and  keep  him  company  for  the 


THE  SHOWDOWN  209 

afternoon.  If  we're  not  back,  you  can  see  to  his 
supper;  picnic  there  with  him,  if  you  like.  How's 
that  ?" 

The  poor  child  thanked  him  warmly,  glowing  at 
the  thought  of  one  single  meal  alone  with  her  hus- 
band.    It  was  pitiful. 

I  unlocked  my  house,  which  held  already  the  queer, 
dank  smell  of  disuse,  and  we  three  entered  and  dis- 
posed ourselves  comfortably  upon  dusty  chairs  to 
await  Satterfield's  coming.  He  kept  us  long  enough; 
he  had  not  appeared  at  two,  or  at  four.  Indeed  it 
was  close  upon  sunset,  and  Dorothy,  no  doubt,  was 
already  arranging  her  pathetic  supper  party  in  the 
lockup,  before  we  heard  a  heavy  step  on  the  porch, 
followed  by  his  loud  knock. 

Somers  went  to  the  door.  "Hello,  Satterfield! 
Come  right  in  this  way." 

"H-howdy,  doc!''  said  Satterfield  boisterously.  His 
gruff  voice  was  blurred  with  liquor.  He  slapped 
Somers'  lean  back  and  swaggered  into  the  darkened 
room.  "Howdy,  gents!  Aim  t'  have  a  liT  game, 
huh?     Have  drink?" 

Producing  a  quart  flask  he  thrust  it  forward  un- 
certainly, weaving  back  and  forth  upon  booted  feet. 
Then  he  perceived  suddenly  that  we  were  not  of 
his  intimates. 

"Wh-what's  this  here?"  he  demanded.  "Thought 
you  was  gointa  have  s'nr  reg'lar  sports,  doc?" 

"I  have,"  replied  Somers  equably.  "Come  in  the 
office,  Satterfield;  we  want  to  talk  with  you  a  bit." 
And,  as  the  other  lurched  past  him  through  the  door- 
way, he  passed   a  deft   hand  over  both  hips,    then 


210  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

slipped  it  under  the  loose  coat  with  surprising  speed 
and  whipped  out  a  big  revolver. 

The  bootlegger  whirled,  snarling.  "Here! 
Whaddaya  mean?" 

"Sit  down,  friend."  Somers  waved  him  amiably 
to  a  chair,  using  the  pistol  to  gesture  wnth.  "We're 
going  to  have  a  nice,  quiet  talk,  and  I'd  hate  to  have 
it  interrupted  by  gun  play." 

Blinking  at  him  uncertainly,  Satterfield  subsided. 
"You  done  drank  a  right  smart  o'  my  liquor,"  he 
said. 

The  doctor  made  a  wry  face.  "Yes — for  my  sins  I 
Now,  Satterfield,  we  know  all  about  your  bootlegging 
business;  where  the  liquor  comes  from,  who  makes 
it,  how  it's  brought  to  Pinelands,  and  where  it  goes 
from  here.  We  know  you  got  five  barrels  of  whisky 
this  morning;  it's  in  the  old  drying  house,  back  of 
Bates'  orchard,  right  now.  We  know  all  about  it; 
we've  got  it  all  over  you  like  a  tent!" 

Our  victim  scowled  belligerently.  "Huh!  Dirty 
revenue  sneak,  are  yuh?     Spy!     Revenuer!" 

Somers  grinned.  "Not  that,"  he  said.  "I'm  no 
prohibition-enforcement  agent.  I  don't  care  how 
much  booze  you  peddle,  though  I  do  think  it's  a 
pretty  bad  job  for  any  man,  especially,  considering 
the  kind  of  stuff  you're  putting  out!  I  don't  want 
to  squeal  on  you,  Satterfield,  and  I  shan't — un- 
less  " 

The  other  eyed  him  closely,  tugging  at  his  piratical 
mustache.  "An'  I  thought  you  was  my  friend!"  he 
said,    apparently    on    the    verge    of    maudlin    tears. 


THE  SHOWDOWN  211 

"Well,  gwan ;  how  much  ?  I  c'n  git  a  bunch  o'  money 
f'r  ye,  I  s'pose." 

Somers  shook  his  head.  "Not  that,  either.  All 
I  want  is  the  truth  about  Doctor  Gaskell's  murder. 
Did  you  kill  him,  Satterfield  ?" 

The  man  sat  up  suddenly,  with  a  queer,  galvanic 
jerk.  Beneath  its  grizzled  stubble,  his  face  turned 
a  pasty  w^hite;  his  fierce  eyes  roved  uneasily,  fear- 
filled,  looking  about  for  escape. 

"I  cain't!"  he  protested.  "I  cain't  tell  you-all 
nothin'  'bout  it.     Ain't  healthy.     Nossir!" 

''Very  well !  I'll  drop  over  to  Raleigh  to-morrow 
— no,  to-night!  I'll  hunt  up  the  collector  of  internal 
revenue  there,  and  I'll  tell  him  all  about  this  whole- 
sale booze  business  of  yours.  And,  Satterfield,"  as 
the  other  shook  a  stubborn  head,  'Til  say  you  told 
me  about  it!'' 

At  the  threat,  delivered  with  terrifying  earnest- 
ness, Satterfield  leaped  up  wildly.  His  truculence  had 
disappeared;  he  was  cold  sober  and  in  deadly  fear. 

"Ah,  no,  no,  noT  he  exclaimed,  his  face  ghastly. 
He  literally  w^ent  down  upon  his  knees,  groveled  on 
the  floor,  plucking  at  Somers'  shoes  with  shaking 
hands.  "Ah,  don't!  Don't,  doc,  he'll  k-kill  me 
shore — he'll  cut  my  heart  out — he'll  b-burn  me  alive. 
You  don't  know  'im,  doc — he'd  skin  me!  Don't  you, 
now!  Ain't  we  been  good  frien's,  an'  drank  to- 
gether, an'  all?  Yuh  wouldn't  do  that  t'  me?  You- 
all  ain't  a-goin'  to  let  him,  will  yuh?" 

He  turned  to  us,  tears  trickling  down  his  cheeks, 
a  revolting,  pitiable  spectacle. 

"You'd  better  talk,  then,"  said  Somers  inexorably. 


m 


((- 


{(^ 


fi' 


212  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

*'0h,  yeah — yeah!  Anythin'  on'y  that!  Fll  give 
up  anythin',  if  you-all  won't  turn  'im  loose  onto  me." 

*'Get  up!"  ordered  our  leader  disgustedly.  "Sit 
over  there  and  quit  wallowing;  act  Hke  a  man." 

Satterfield  obeyed.  'T  ain't  scared  o'  many  things, 
doc,"  he  said  unresentfully,  but  with  a  certain  rude 
dignity.  "There's  them  could  tell  yuh  I  ain't  no 
coward,  but  I  am  a-scared  o'  him!  Whaddaya 
want?" 

'Did  you  shoot  Gaskell?" 
'Nossir!"  he  replied  emphatically. 
'Did  you  see  him  shot?" 
'Nossir!" 

"Well,"  said  Somers  impatiently,  "your  daughter 
phoned  to  you  that  he  was  going  out,  about  four 
that  morning.  You  borrowed  Tulliver's  shotgun 
without  asking  for  it,  and  you  started  off  down  the 
hill,  meaning  to  kill  him,  didn't  you?" 

Satterfield  stared  in  wonder  tinged  with  admira- 
tion. "Was  you  there?  Naw,  yuh  didn't  come  till 
next  day.  It  beats  my  time  how  yuh  found  out,  doc, 
but  that's  straight — all  of  it.'' 

"Well,  go  on!  What  did  happen?  What  did 
you  do?  Whom  did  you  see?  Come  out  with  it 
all,  or  I'll  go  to  Raleigh  on  the  eight-ten!"  Somers 
pulled  his  watch.     "I've  just  nice  time  to  catch  it." 

"Aw,  now,  doc,  lissen !  I  come  down  th'  hill 
w'ith  Tulliver's  gun,  jus'  like  yuh  said,  an'  hung 
round  Gaskell's  house  waitin'  f'r  him  t'  come  out. 
But  I  never  shot  him,  doc — I  never  seen  him  shot; 
I  never  seen  him  come  outa  th'  house,  even!  I — 
I  saw  a — another   feller  hangin'   round,  an'   I  knew 


THE  SHOWDOWN  213 

it  wasn't  healthy  Vr  me  around  there,  an'  I  beat  it. 
Honest,  that's  all!'' 

**Humph!"   said   Somers.      "Who  was   it?" 

But  there  Satterfield  l)alked.  He  would  say  no 
more;  nothing  could  move  him  to  give  the  man's 
name,  he  protested.  We  would  go  to  the  collector; 
to  the  prohibition  enforcement  agents?  Very  well! 
That  would  be  the  death  of  him,  but  it  would  do  us 
no  good.  'T  tell  yuh  I'm  a-scared  o'  this  feller/'  he 
repeated.  'T  ain't  a-goin'  t'  say  nothin'  about  'im — 
not  one  thing!  He  might  as  well  kill  me  f'r  squealin' 
about  one  thing  as  another,  an'  I  ain't  a-goin'  t' 
squeal,  neither!  You-all  c'n  git  me  killed  if  yuh 
like,  but  I  ain't  done  nothin'  t'  deserve  it." 

His  final  protest  was  not  Vvithout  its  dignity.  He 
vv^as  adamant;  he  adn^iitied,  vvhite-faced  and  shaking, 
that  a  horrible  death  awaited  him  if  it  should  be 
thought  that  he  had  betrayed  his  confederates  in  the 
illicit  liquor  traffic.  None  the  less,  he  would  tell  us 
nothing. 

"You  seem  as  much  frightened  of  this  man  you 
saw  waiting  for  Gaskell  as  you  do  of  the  leader  of 
your  gang,"  declared  Somers  at  last.  Then  he 
added  a  shrewd  suggestion :  "Perhaps  they're  tlie 
same  man?" 

Satterfield  threw  up  his  hands.  "For  law's  sake, 
doc!"  he  exclaimed.  "Naw — yes — naw!  I  don't 
know  what  t'  say!"     And  he  fell  to  weeping  openly. 

"Well,  tell  me  this:  Why  did  you  plan  to  kill 
Gaskell  ?" 

He  looked  up  sullenly.  "I  had  my  orders.  Th' 
feller  knowed  too  much.'' 


i(l 


(n 


214  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

*'It  wasn't  just  because  he  sent  you  to  jail,  then?" 
asked  Somers. 

''Huh?  That  wa'n't  s'  much.  I  been  in  jail  afore 
that." 

"You  had  orders  to  shoot  Gaskell,  then.  And, 
when  you  got  down  there,  you  found  the  man  who 
gave  you  those  orders,  and  you  decided  he  was  going 
to  take  the  matter  over  himself.     Is  that  right?" 

Satterfield  nodded  reluctantly. 
'Did  the  same  man  order  you  to  lynch  Parker?" 

We-ell,  no,  not  exactly,  but  I  figgered  mebbe  he'd 
like  t'  have  it  seed  to." 

^'Exactly!  So  you  think  the  chief  of  your  bootleg- 
ging gang  killed  Doctor  Gaskell?  But  you're  afraid 
to  admit  it,  even  though  we  don't  know  the  fellow." 

Somers  rose.  The  other,  completely  cowed,  gazed 
at  him  in  fear.  *'No,"  said  Somers,  with  a  grim 
laugh,  "we  shan't  turn  you  up  this  time.  But  listen 
closely,  Satterfield:  You  keep  quiet!  If  you  drop 
so  much  as  a  hint  to  this  mysterious  boss  of  yours, 
that  you're  so  scared  of,  if  you  suggest  to  him  that 
we're  after  him,  Heaven  help  you!  And  now,  get 
out !" 

Satterfield  rose  with  alacrity,  half  in  doubt  that  he 
was  to  be  let  off  so  easily.  *T  won't  say  nothin',"  he 
replied.  "Ain't  got  to!  You  go  monkeyin'  round 
with  him,  an'  that'll  be  th'  last  of  yuh!" 

He  disappeared,  and  we  locked  up  the  place  and 
started  back  toward  Fort  House. 

At  the  corner,  Peter  turned.  "I'll  trot  down  after 
the  mail,"  said  he.     "Be  back  in  five  minutes." 


THE  SHOWDOWN  215 

We  found  Dorothy  and  Miss  Christie  in  the  living 
room.     Both  looked  up  at  us  expectantly. 

"Progress,"  said  Somers.  *'I  think  we're  on  the 
trail  of  the  murderer  at  last."  And  he  told  them 
briefly  of  to-day's  work.  As  he  finished,  a  thought 
struck  me. 

*'Look  here,  Somers;  remember  that  third  man 
out  there?  I  told  you  he  was  in  town  the  night 
of  the  murder.  He  was  over  at  GaskelFs,  and  he 
made  some  sort  of  a  threat;  you  remember  my  tell- 
ing you,  Dorothy?  A  tremendous  old  man  with  a 
long,  white  beard,  called  himself  *Roaring  Lafe'  Rut- 
ledge?  What  if  he  were  this  mysterious  leader  of 
the  whisky  smugglers?  He  was  in  town,  and  he 
threatened  Gaskell." 

Somers  did  not  reply.  His  eyes  were  on  Anne 
Christie,  who  had  grown  very  white.  I  had  seen 
her  flinch  at  the  name  of  Rutledge,  and  now  I  re- 
called her  strange  conduct  of  that  other  night,  when 
she  had  dashed  from  the  house  after  hearing  that 
name.     What  did  she  know^  of  this  thing? 

"Are  you  sick?"  asked  Somers.  "Miss  Christie — 
Anne!     What's  the  matter?" 

Her  lips  opened,  but  Peter  dashed  in  with  a  black 
face. 

"Grand  jury  proceedings  are  out,"  he  announced. 
"And  they've  indicted  Lewis  Parker  for  murder  in 
the  first  degree!" 

The  news  stunned  us  all,  though  we  had  been  more 
or  less  prepared  for  it.  Then,  in  the  sudden  silence 
w^hich  greeted  this  bombshell,  Anne  Christie  spoke. 

"I — perhaps  I  could  help  a  little,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ANNE  Christie's  story 

WE  all  turned  upon  the  nurse.  Beneath  our  won- 
dering gaze  the  bright  color  rose  high,  flooding 
her  fair  face;  then  receded  once  more,  leaving  her 
very  pale.     But  she  faced  us  bravely. 

"I — I You  see,  I've  hated  so  to  talk  about 

it  all,  even  to  think  about  it,  and  especially  this  last 
two  weeks."  She  spoke  to  all  of  us,  but  her  big 
violet  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Doctor  Somers.  "And 
now,  to  make  ycu-all  understand,  I'll  have  to  go 
back  to  the  very  beginning,  I'm  afraid,  and  tell  you 
about  me.     You  w^on't  mind?" 

I  suppressed  an  exclamation.  Truly  this  quiet, 
somnolent  nurse  had  changed !  I  wondered  what  ex- 
planation she  was  about  to  offer  for  her  queer  con- 
duct of  that  night  before  the  murder,  when  the  name 
of  "Roaring  Lafe"  Rutledge  had  driven  her  from 
the  house;  of  her  excitement  next  morning,  when 
she  had  fainted  at  the  news  of  Doctor  Gaskell's 
death.  And  I  wondered  the  more  what  had  moved 
her  to  volunteer  any  information  about  herself,  for 
I  remembered — and  the  thought  had  puzzled  me  more 
than  once — that  never,  save  once,  during  all  her  six 
months  at  Fort  House,  had  she  spoken  so  much  as 
a  word  about  her  past  life. 

"You  won't  mind?"  she  asked  again,  eyes  wist- 
fully fixed  upon  Doctor  Somers.  "And  you'll  try  to 
make  allowances — not  to  think  little  of  me?     I " 


ANNE  CHRISTIE'S  ^'foRY  217 

She  stopped  and  bit  her  lips,  then  went  bravely  on, 
slender  hands  clenched  at  her  sides. 

"I  was  born  in  the  mountains,  up  near  the  Ten- 
nessee border,  in  a  log  cabin  on  Lick  Run.  My 
mother  came  from  the  settlements;  I  never  knew 
my  father.  He  died  when  I  was  a  baby.  I've  heard 
mother  say  he  was  educated;  that  he'd  been  to  col- 
lege, even.  But  why  they  went  up  into  the  moun- 
tains to  live  she  never  would  tell  me.  All  I  know^  is 
that  she  wouldn't  go  back  to  the  settlements  even 
when  he  died.  A  tree  fell  on  him,  mother  said. 
When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  used  to  go  out  and  climb 
up  to  the  very  peak  of  Snagtooth  Mountain  and  sit 
beside  his  grave  and  w^onder — about  so  many  things! 
He  was  buried  there,  on  the  very  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, under  a  big,  lone  pine  tree. 

"After  that  we  were  very  poor,  mother  and  I. 
I  used  to  go  barefoot,  summer  and  winter;  and  so 
did  she.  We  never  wore  shoes,  either  of  us,  for 
years  and  years."  She  looked  down  at  her  slender, 
high-arched  feet,  now  so  trimly  shod,  as  if  in  w^on- 
der  at  their  being  covered. 

We  were  all  very  still.  Somers'  deep-set  gray- 
green  eyes  were  inscrutable.  I  blew  my  nose  hard, 
seeing  in  fancy  that  little  slim  girl,  barefooted  and 
ragged,  huddled  on  the  peak  of  a  wind-swept  moun- 
tain beside  the  grave  of  the  father  she  could  not  re- 
member, hugging  bare,  brown  knees  and  staring  off 
across  the  jutting  hills,  wondering  about  so  many 
things ! 

"I  wore  the  same  dress  for  two  years,''  she  went 
on  dreamily.     Her  tragic  eyes  were  all  for  Doctor 


2i8         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Somers;  she  was  telling  her  story  to  him,  watching 
him  for  sympathy,  for  approval,  for  scorn.  She 
would  tell  him  all.  I  fancied  I  could  read  the  deter- 
mination in  her  white,  set  face.  And  then,  if  he 
turned  from  her — well! 

"I  wore  the  same  dress  for  two  years.  Mother 
patched  it  and  patched  it — poor  mother — until  I'd 
forgotten  its  original  color.  There  were  homespun 
patches,  I  remember,  and  blue- jean  ones,  bits  of 
flour  sacking  and  burlap.  We  were  very  poor. 
There  was  only  the  small  piece  of  cleared  land,  and 
mother  wasn't  strong  enough  even  to  take  care  of 
that.  The  weeds  grew  higher  than  the  corn.  And 
she'd  take  my  father's  ax  and  try  so  hard  to  chop 
down  a  little  tree  and  blister  her  poor  hands  and 
cry. 

"We  couldn't  live  that  way.  Then  this  Lafe  Rut- 
ledge  began  coming.  They  called  him  Roaring  Lafe 
even  then,  fourteen  years  ago.  He  was  a  great,  big 
man  and  strong!  I  remember  once  there  were  two 
city  men  out  hunting.  They  were  so  wonderfully 
dressed,  I  thought!  I'd  never  seen  such  clothes. 
They  stopped  for  a  drink  of  water  from  our  spring 
and  stood  talking  with  mother.  She  was  so  pretty, 
my  mother!  And  they  talked  and  laughed,  and 
seemed  so  surprised  that  mother  spoke  like  a  lady, 
had  read  books,  and  everything.  And  she  stood 
there  with  her  poor  cheeks  so  pretty  and  pink,  and 
Lafe  Rutledge  came  through  the  woods  behind  these 
two  men,  looking  as  big  as  both  of  them  together, 
with  his  great  beard  blowing  in  the  wind — it  was 
black   then — and    he   just    made    an    awful,    roaring 


ANNE  CHRISTIE'S  STORY  219 

noise  like  some  great  bear.  Then  he  ran  at  those 
poor  men  and  caught  them,  each  by  his  neck,  and 
swung  them  right  up  off  the  ground  and  carried  them 
off  like  that,  at  arms'  length.  And  then  we  heard  a 
scuffling  and  sliding,  as  he  just  threw  them  down  the 
mountain,  and  he  came  back,  laughing,  and  threw 
their  guns  after  them.  I  ran  away  and  hid.  I  was 
always  afraid  of  him. 

"He  used  to  come  like  that,  twice  every  week, 
with  his  big  boots  greased,  his  hair  slicked  down 
and  shiny,  and  bear's  grease  and  cheap  perfumery  in 
his  beard.  I  remember  still  how  it  smelled.  I  was 
afraid  of  him,  and  I  think  mother  was,  too.  He 
didn't  know  how  old  he  was;  he  couldn't  write  or 
figure,  and  he  couldn't  read  much.  I  suppose  he  was 
fifty,  even  then.  He'd  had  two  wives  already,  and 
both  were  dead. 

''1  don't  know  how  it  came  about.  Perhaps  she 
did  it  for  me.  We  were  very  poor — starving,  almost, 
and  Lafe  Rutledge  was  rich,  as  the  mountain  folks 
count  it.  We  didn't  know  then  how  he  made  his 
money!  Anyway,  mother  married  him.  That  was 
twelve  years  ago.  She  married  him,  and  we  went  to 
live  in  his  house  on  the  Devil's  Branch.  She  was  his 
third,  he  said,  with  that  awful,  roaring  laugh  he  had; 
but,  then,  he  was  her  second,  so  that  was  all  right. 
Poor  mother!  After  all  she'd  told  me  about  my  kind, 
gentle  father,  to  marry  Roaring  Lafe  Rutledge!  I 
hated  it  even  then;  I  ran  away  and  hid  and  wouldn't 
go  there  until  I  was  starved  to  it.  But  I  didn't  know, 
I  couldn't  understand  then,  what  it  meant  to  her. 

"And  yet  the  man  was  good  to  her,  according  to 


220  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

his  lights.  He  never  beat  her;  he  bought  her  a  new 
dress  every  year.  But  he  used  to  go  down  to  the 
store  and  get  drunk,  and  then  come  home  running 
his  mule  and  beating  the  poor  beast.  He  was  dread- 
fully cruel  to  animals,  and  it  was  hard  enough  for 
any  horse  or  mule  to  carry  him;  he  was  so  big  and 
heavy.  And  he'd  come  up  the  Branch,  beating  the 
mule  and  shouting  and  roaring  worse  than  a  wild 
bull;  that's  why  they  called  him  Roaring  Lafe,  I 
suppose.  And  then  he'd  sit  by  the  fireplace,  with  a 
jug  at  his  elbow,  and  he'd  drink  and  drink.  We 
didn't  dare  go  to  bed;  mother  would  sit  beside  me 
in  a  corner,  very  still — frightened,  I  suppose,  just  as 
I  was  frightened — until  at  last  he'd  drop  over  right 
where  he  sat.  Then  we'd  drag  his  boots  off  and 
get  him  to  bed  some  way." 

She  stopped  and  wet  her  lips,  looking  round  at 
us  in  apology^  *'You  see,  I've  had  plenty  of  experi- 
ence in  caring  for  drunken  men,"  she  said.  Somers 
flinched  visibly. 

*'It  was  like  a  nightmare,"  she  went  on.  ''and  it 
only  got  worse.  Mother  got  thinner  and  thinner  and 
whiter  and  whiter.  She  knew  long  before  I  did; 
she  tried  to  keep  it  from  me,  but  it  wasn't  a  year 
before  I  found  it  out,  too.  Lafe  Rutledge  was  run- 
ning a  still.  He  made  moonshine  whisky  up  on  the 
slope  of  Snagtooth  Mountain,  made  it  by  the  barrel 
and  sold  it  all  over  that  country.  And  nobody  dared 
do  anything  about  it;  they  were  all  afraid  of  him. 

*'Ten  years  ago  the  revenue  officers  made  a  big 
raid  up  there,  and  they  nearly  caught  my — my  step- 
father.    He  shot  one  of  them  and  killed  him.     He 


ANNE  CHRISTIE'S  STORY  221 

had  to  hide  out  in  the  laurel  for  months  and  months, 
b;.-t  they  never  caught  him,  and  pretty  soon  he'd 
started  up  another  still  in  a  new  place.  Then  he 
came  home  to  live,  quite  openly.  I  think  that  killing 
had  been  too  much  for  mother.  She  died  about  six 
months  later. 

"I  lived  on  with  him.  There  was  nothing  else  to 
do.  I  was  grow'ing  up.  and  I  was  strong;  mother'd 
taught  me  to  cook;  I  had  to  stay;  Td  nowhere  to 
go,  and  I  was  afraid  of  him.  When  he  was  angry 
with  me  he'd  threaten  to  get  married  again  and 
bring  another  woman  home  with  him  to  keep  me 
from  getting  'uppity.' 

"And  then  Doctor  Gaskell  came.  He  w^as  on  a 
hunting  trip,  and  my  stepfather  brought  him  home 
to  supper  one  night.  I'd  never  supposed  there  w^ere 
such  men  in  the  world.  He  was  w^onderful!  I  lay 
awake  all  night,  just  thinking  about  him.  He  told 
my  stepfather  he  was  forty-nine,  I  remember;  and 
that  was  just  the  age  my  father  would  have  been  if 
he'd  lived.  I  lay  there — I  was  only  eighteen — and 
pretended  Doctor  Gaskell  was  really  my  father,  and 
we  were  just  visiting  up  there,  just  camping  out, 
and  in  a  few  days  we'd  go  back  home,  down  the 
mountains,  into  the  settlements,  which  mother  used 
to  talk  about  sometimes,  into  a  real  house,  with 
carpets  and  hard-wood  floors  and  a  bathtub  and  a 
furnace  and  all  the  wonderful  furnishings  I'd 
dreamed  about  and  never  seen.  It  was  a  very  beauti- 
ful dream. 

"Things  were  w^orse  than  ever  just  then;  my  step- 
father was  'sitting  up,'  as  they  call  it,  with  a  widow 


222  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

on  Lick  Run,  and  I  just  couldn't  bear  to  think  of 
another  woman  in  the  house  where  mother  had  died. 
And  so  I  sHpped  away  and  went  to  Doctor  Gaskell's 
tent  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  and  I  talked 
to  him.  rd  never  been  to  school  a  day;  for  one 
thing,  w^e  were  too  poor,  and  I  had  no  dress  to  wear, 
and  then  my  stepfather  wouldn't  let  me.  He  didn't 
believe  in  schooling;  said  it  made  women  high-toned 
and  finickin.  He  used  to  laugh  and  sneer  at  my  poor 
mother,  because  she  wasn't  strong,  and  say  it  was 
book  learning  made  her  that  way.  But  mother'd 
taught  me  a  lot. 

''And  Doctor  Gaskell  was  so  good  to  me!  If  he'd 
really  been  my  own  father  he  couldn't  have  been 
better.  He  offered  to  take  me  down  to  the  settle- 
ments with  him  and  find  me  work  there  and  fix  it 
so  I  could  go  to  night  school.  I  didn't  dare  at  first ; 
I  told  him  Roaring  Lafe  would  kill  us  both.  But  he 
just  laughed.  That  was  the  most  wonderful  thing 
of  all — he  wasn't  afraid  of  Lafe  Rutledge!  Until 
then  I'd  supposed  everybody  in  the  world  must  l>e 
afraid  of  him. 

'*So,  the  end  of  it  was,  I  slipped  out  in  the  night, 
and  Doctor  Gaskell  took  me  with  him  down  the 
mountain  and  into  Asheville.  I  was  so  frightened; 
I  thought  that  must  be  the  biggest  city  in  the  world. 
I'd  never  dreamed  of  anything  so  grand.  And  we 
took  the  train  there  and  went  to  Raleigh,  and  the 
doctor  got  a  place  for  me  in  the  hospital  as  an  at- 
tendant. I  studied  at  night  and  worked  hard !  After 
a  year  or  two  I  got  into  the  nurses'  training  school, 
and  I  went  through  it  and  graduated.     The  whole 


ANNE  CHRISTIE'S  STORY  223 

world  seemed  going  just  right  for  me;  I  was  very 
happy." 

She  paused  and  sighed.  Her  dreamy  eyes  seemed 
to  dwell  on  that  vision  of  past  happiness. 

''But  it  didn't  last,"  she  went  on.  "I  knew  all  the 
time,  some  w^ay,  that  it  couldn't  last.  I  don't  know 
how  he  found  out,  but  one  night  my  stepfather  came 
to  the  hospital  and  asked  for  me,  just  as  I  was  going 
on  duty ;  I  was  charge  nurse  on  a  ward  then.  I  came 
out,  wondering  who  it  could  be,  for  I  hadn't  many 
friends,  and  thinking  perhaps  Doctor  Gaskell  might 
have  come  down  from  Pinelands — I  hadn't  seen  him 
for  a  year  almost — and  it  was  Roaring  Lafe!  I  just 
stood  there  dumb.  He  told  me  to  get  my  bundle  and 
come  with  him.  I  was  frightened  to  death.  I've 
been  afraid  of  him  all  my  life.  But  I  think  I'd  have 
found  courage  to  refuse,  to  call  the  police,  to  do 
something,  rather  than  go  back  with  him,  but  he  just 
stood  there,  pulling  at  that  great,  bushy  beard,  and 
he  laughed  that  awful,  roaring  laugh,  so  that  the 
orderly  ran  out  to  see  what  the  noise  was.  Then 
he  caught  my  arm — I  wore  the  mark  of  it  for  a 
month — and  dragged  me  close  and  whispered  in  my 
ear.  The  smell  of  raw  corn  whisky  was  on  him, 
and  his  eyes  were  terrible. 

"  'You  come  along  quiet,'  he  told  me.  *If  you 
don't,  to-night  that  mis'able  furriner,  Gaskell,  will  git 
his  comeuppance!  I'll  go  plumb  f'om  here  to  Pine- 
lands,  a-puppose  t'  waylay  him;  I'll  fill  his  gizzard 
with  buckshot.  You  comin',  you  huzzy,  or  do  you 
aim  t'  stay  here  with  these  furriners  in  th'  settle- 
mints  ?* 


224  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"So  I  went  with  him.  What  else  could  I  do?  I 
could  have  screamed  for  help,  though  I  don't  believe 
he'd  have  laid  his  hand  on  me  in  anger.  But  I  knew 
he'd  keep  his  word.  I  knew  he'd  leave  me  there  at 
the  hospital  and  go  straight  here  to  Pinelands  and  kill 
Doctor  Gaskell,  just  as  he  said.  And  I  couldn't  bear 
that,  after  all  he'd  done.  Why,  I  wouldn't  be  alive, 
if  it  weren't  for  him!  Because  I  might  just  as  well 
be  dead,  as  buried  up  there  in  the  hills,  as  I  was 
till  he  came.  And  I've  always  made  believe  in  my 
own  mind  that  Doctor  Gaskell  was  my  own  father 
come  to  life  again;  I've  always  thought  of  him  as 
a  father;  it  was  just  like  hearing  my  own  father  had 
been  killed,  that  morning,  when  you  told  us,  Mr. 
Uhlman." 

She  turned  to  me,  as  if  to  apologize  for  her  faint- 
ing that  fateful  morning,  and  her  big  violet  eyes  were 
tragic. 

"So  I  went  back,"  she  said,  as  she  took  up  her 
pitiful  tale.  *T  went  back  to  the  log  house  on  the 
Devil's  Branch  and  put  by  my  nice  clothes  and  wore 
homespun  again  and  cooked  salt  pork  and  corn 
pone.  At  night  I  waited  alone  for  my  stepfather  to 
come  home,  shouting  and  roaring.  I  used  to  sit 
huddled  in  a  corner,  shaking  all  over,  while  he  drank 
raw  corn  liquor  until  he  fell  over,  dead  drunk,  and 
I  pulled  off  his  boots  and  put  him  to  bed.  And 
all  the  while  I  was  frightened,  frightened  out  of 
my  wits,  though  he  never  laid  his  hands  on  me.  But 
there  was  a  devil  peeping  out  of  his  eyes  at  me. 
Oh,  he's  a  terrible  man ! 

"And  yet  I  do  believe  that  he  thought  he  was  do 


ANNE  CHRISTIE'S  STORY  225 

ing  the  right  thing  by  me.  He  always  used  to  say 
he'd  saved  my  soul  by  bringing  me  back  there. 

"It  went  on  from  w^eek  to  week  and  month  to 
month,  for  three  whole  years.  At  first  it  was  un- 
bearable, and  I  used  to  cry  all  night  and  think  of 
killing  myself.  After  a  while  I  got  sort  of  deadened 
and  lost  interest  in  things.  The  days  slipped  by,  and 
I  dropped  into  a  daze  and  went  on  like  some  machine, 
without  even  thinking  any  more.  I  put  on  flesh,  and 
my  stepfather  gloated  over  the  fact,  saying  how 
strong  I  was,  as  if  Fd  been  a  horse  or  a  mule!  He 
insisted  that  I  was  outgrowing  my  finical  ways  and 
book  learning,  and  getting  to  be  a  healthy,  honest 
woman.  If  he  could  have  had  my  poor  mother 
earlier,  he  used  to  say,  before  she  was  plumb  ruined 
with  education,  she'd  have  been  healthy,  too.  And 
even  that  didn't  rouse  me  much.  I  felt  so  dull  and 
stupid,  and  I  got  so  I'd  sleep  all  the  time.  There 
are  women  like  that  in  the  mountains,  strange,  fat, 
stupid-looking  creatures,  with  wide,  flat  faces,  who 
just  sleep  and  mope  around  all  the  time,  like  cows, 
without  ever  caring  about  anything.  They  look  al- 
most deformed;  they're  unnatural.  Some  of  them 
have  great  goiters.  I  used  to  wonder  if  I'd  ever 
be  like  them,  but  I  didn't  care  much,  even  for  that." 

Her  voice  fell.  Behind  the  impassive,  common- 
place words  I  felt  such  a  bitterness  of  desolation, 
such  a  gripping,  terrible  memory  of  those  monoto- 
nous, lifeless  days,  that  my  throat  closed  upon  the 
words  of  sympathy  I  strove  to  utter. 

Doctor  Somers  raised  his  head,  his  gray-green  eyes 
impersonally    alight.     *'l    thought    so!     A    goiterous 


226  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELAXDS 

region!  Mighty  interesting,  that!  You  know  there 
is  a  similar  region  in  the  mountains  of  Switzerland, 
where  most  of  the  women  have  goiter.  We  used  to 
think  it  was  the  water;  but  we  know  better  now.  I 
must  go  up  there  and  investigate.  You  haven't  any 
struma,  Miss  Christie,"  said  Somers,  stooping  for- 
ward to  touch  her  rounded  throat,  at  which  the  girl 
blushed  vividly,  *'but  you  developed  a  condition  of 
hypothyroidism  instead."  And  he  went  on  didacti- 
cally into  a  maze  of  "hormones"  and  ''endocrines" 
and  "internal  secretions,"  which  nobody  understood. 
"But  you're  safely  out  of  that  hole  now,"  he  con- 
cluded practically,  "and  your  condition  is  practically 
cured,  thanks  to  the  thyroid  I  gave  you.  You've 
changed  wonderfully  in  just  this  ten  days,  child! 
You're  a  hundred  per  cent  brighter,  less  somnolent. 
And,"  as  if  the  idea  had  just  struck  him,  "you've 
grown  mighty  pretty.  Why,  Anne,  child — you're 
really  beautiful!" 

The  girl's  first  name  came  from  his  lips  unhesi- 
tatingly, as  if  he  thought  of  her  thus,  and  not  as 
Miss  Christie.  His  tone  was  one  of  naive  surprise  at 
this  discovery. 

"You're  a  raving  beauty,  Anne!"  he  repeated. 

The  girl  blushed  vividly,  the  bright  color  sweeping 
up  to  the  very  edge  of  her  fair  hair.  Her  eyes, 
which  had  been  so  bravely,  so  candidly  fixed  upon 
Somers  throughout  her  pitiful  story,  dropped 
modestly  and  were  veiled  by  long,  curved  lashes. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  asked  demurely. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A    PROJECTED   EXCURSION 

DON'T  interrupt,''  ordered  Dorothy  peremptorily. 
Like  the  rest  of  us,  she  was  eager  for  the  end 
of  the  nurse's  tale.  "You  can  talk  about  her  good 
looks  later;  we  want  to  hear  what  happened  next. 
Go  on,  Miss  Christie!" 

And  Miss  Christie  went  on,  rather  less  sadly,  I 
thought. 

"Well,  I'd  have  been  up  there  yet,  I  reckon,  if  last 
fall  my  stepfather  hadn't  wanted  me  to  get  m-mar- 
ried."  She  blushed.  "There  was  a  man,  Calvin 
Collender,  whom  they  called  'Cal  Col.'  He  used  to 
work  with  my  stepfather.  Since  prohibition,  you  see, 
my  stepfather  had  been  making  corn  whisky  faster 
than  ever.  He  bought  up  corn  from  all  over  the 
mountains  and  put  up  a  bigger  still,  and  they  used 
to  smuggle  it  out  some  way  and  sell  it  down  in  the 
settlements.  He  used  to  come  back  with  his  pockets 
just  bulging  W'ith  money,  all  in  gold;  he  had  no 
faith  in  paper  money,  and  he'd  bury  the  gold  some- 
w^here.  Why,  he  must  have  made  thousands  and 
thousands  of  dollars — is  making  it  yet,  I  suppose. 
And  this  Collender,  this  Cal  Col,  was  his  chief  helper, 
a  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  sharp  nose  and  a  short  chin, 
like  those  mountaineers  have,  and  little,  mean-looking 
eyes.  He  was  lots  older  than  I;  he  was  a  widower, 
too.    And  my  stepfather  kept  after  me  and  after  me. 


228  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

He  said  I  ought  to  be  grateful;  that  it  wasn't  every 
man  would  marry  a  woman  like  me,  who'd  had  book 
learning  and  knew  things  it  wasn't  fitting  for  a 
woman  to  know. 

"I  couldn't  stand  that.  It  was  bad  enough  with 
Roaring  Lafe,  but  to  go  to  this  other  man,  this 
Cal  Col,  who  wasn't  even  brave,  I  couldn't!  I  re- 
membered my  poor  mother,  and  how  she'd  just 
faded  away,  and  I  thought  it  was  better  to  die  right 
then.  And  Lafe  Rutledge  was  a  man;  you  had  to 
respect  him,  in  spite  of  all  his  terrible  ways.  But 
this  Cal  Col  was  just  like  a  creeping,  crawly  snake, 
afraid  of  my  stepfather,  afraid  of  the  law,  afraid 
of  everything,  even  of  me,  I  think.  He  used  to  look 
at  me  sideways,  with  those  dry,  bright  little  eyes, 
just  like  a  rattlesnake.  And  I  knew  he'd  beat  me  if 
lie  dared. 

"So  one  night  last  winter  I  just  ran  away,  down 
the  mountain  all  alone.  It  began  to  snow  while  I 
was  climbing  down  toward  Asheville,  and  I  was  so 
glad !  I  knew  the  dogs  couldn't  follow  me  then. 
My  stepfather  had  a  dozen  bloodhounds.  And  I  got 
clear  away,  somehow,  and  bought  a  veil  to  put  over 
my  face;  then  I  took  the  train  and  came  right  here 
to  Pinelands;  I  didn't  know  what  else  to  do.  If  I 
went  back  to  Raleigh,  I  knew  my  stepfather  would 
find  me. 

*'And  I  got  off  the  train  here  and  went  to  a  hotel. 
It  was  in  the  winter,  you  see,  and  the  town  was  full 
of  tourists  from  the  North ;  nobody  noticed  one  more. 
I  phoned  to  Doctor  Gaskell,  and  he  came  right  away 


A  PROJECTED  EXCURSION  229 

and  told  me  about  this  place.  Miss  McGregor  had 
asked  him  to  find  a  nurse  for  her  that  very  day. 

"So  he  recommended  me,  and  I  got  the  place  and 
came  to  Fort  House.  I've  been  here  ever  since. 
Perhaps  you've  wondered  why  I  kept  so  close  in  the 
house  and  never  went  anywhere?  Or,  perhaps,  you 
just  thought  I  was  too  sleepy  and  sluggish  to  want 
to  go  out.  But  I  saw  that  man  Satterfield  down- 
towm  one  day,  and  I  didn't  dare  show  myself  after 
that,  for  I'd  seen  him  on  the  Devil's  Branch,  at  my 
stepfather's,  twice.  He  had  something  to  do  with 
disposing  of  the  liquor  they  made;  I  don't  know 
what. 

"I  couldn't  change  my  name,  you  see,  because  I'm 
a  registered  nurse  and  have  to  have  a  license.  But 
my  stepfather  has  never  lived  out  of  the  mountains, 
and  he  doesn't  know  anything  about  registration  and 
all  that;  so  I  wasn't  afraid  he'd  trace  me  through  the 
State  board.  I  kept  right  close  in  the  house  and 
hoped  Satterfield  wouldn't  see  me  or  think  of  my 
being  the  same  one,  if  he  heard  my  name.  Nobody 
much  knew  my  name,  anyhow^  I  kept  so  quiet. 
People  just  thought  of  me  as  that  stupid  nurse  up  at 
Fort  House. 

"And  I  lived  in  fear  that  some  day  my  stepfather 
would  find  me  out,  or  come  here  and  kill  Doctor 
Gaskell  anyway,  as  he'd  threatened;  and  I  think  I'd 
have  gone  crazy  if  it  weren't  for  this  stupid,  sleepy 
feeling  I  always  had.  I  suppose  it  w^as  a  disease,  as 
you  said,  Doctor  Somers,  but  I  think  it  saved  my 
reason. 

"And  at  last  he  did   find   me   out.     Was  it  any 


230  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

wonder  I  was  frightened,  Mr.  Uhlman,  when  you 
came  in  that  night  and  said  you'd  seen  Roaring  Lafe 
Rutledge  on  Doctor  Gaskell's  porch,  threatening  to 
^settle  with  him  before  sunup?'  And  now  you  know 
why  I  ran  right  out  without  stopping  to  explain.  I 
went  over  to  the  doctor's  house,  right  across  the 
road,  and  told  him  my  stepfather  was  here,  and  I 
begged  him  to  hide,  or  have  him  arrested. 

*'He  only  laughed,  for  he  was  never  afraid  of  my 
stepfather.  But  he  did  promise  not  to  go  to  the 
hotel  and  see  him.  And  then,  next  morning,  you 
found  him  out  there — dead!  I  thought  right  away 
it  must  have  been  my  stepfather  who  did  it,  and  I 
suppose  I  fainted.  I  was  almost  glad" — she  looked 
at  Dorothy  in  wistful  apology — ''when  they  said 
Doctor  Parker  had  done  it  by  accident.  The — the 
other  seemed  so  terrible;  to  think  he'd  been  killed  be- 
cause of  me!  And  then,  afterward,  when  the  solici- 
tor made  it  look  like  murder,  I  didn't  know  what  to 
do.  And  I  hoped  you-all  could  prove  it  was  Satter- 
field  who  was  guilty,  or  anybody  in  that  gang  except 
my  stepfather,  and  for  any  reason  except  because  of 
me.  And  it  seemed  harder  and  harder" — her  beauti- 
ful, appealing  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Somers  once 
more,  as  in  mute  explanation  of  her  difficulty — 
''harder  than  ever  to  have  to  tell  all  this,  and  to 
have  to  admit  that  I  was  only  a  poor,  uneducated  girl 
from  the  mountains,  without  any  relatives  in  the 
world  that  I  know  of  except  my  stepfather.'* 

She  stopped  and  bent  her  fair  head,  sobbing  deso- 
lately. Somers  patted  her  shoulder.  "You  poor 
child!"    he    said,    his    casual    tones   suddenly   deeper, 


A  PROJECTED  EXCURSION  231 

softer,  charged  with  sympathy.  She  looked  up  at 
him  adoringly,  with  the  wistful,  worshiping  gaze 
one  sees  in  a  dog's  eyes.  But  he  seemed  blind  to  its 
significance. 

"Don't  you  fret  any  more,"  he  went  on.  *'You 
needn't  marry  this  Cal  Col  fellow  or  any  other  man. 
And  if  Lafe  comes  roaring  round  here,  he'll  get  into 
trouble.     Fm  not  afraid   of  him,   either!" 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  him.  He's  terrible — just  ter- 
rible! Sometimes  I  wonder  if  he's  quite  human.  If 
he  comes  for  me,  I'll  just  have  to  go  back,  that's  all, 
and  marry  Cal  Col,  if  he  says  so.  I — I  can't  have 
anybody  else  murdered  for  me." 

"Humph!"  said  Somers.  "I  begin  to  feel  that  I 
ought  to  have  a  bit  of  a  chat  with  this  Mr.  Rut- 
ledge!" 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  The  girl's  voice  rang  sharp 
with  fear;  she  clutched  at  his  arm.  "He — he'd  kill 
you,  too!" 

"I  think  not."  Somers  freed  his  arm  gently  and 
rose.  "But  look  here,  Anne,  if  Rutledge  knew  you 
were  here,  why  hasn't  he  come  after  you?  I  don't 
believe  his  business  with  Gaskell  had  anything  to  do 
with  you;  I  don't  believe  he  knows  w^here  you  are 
at  all.  Satterfield  admitted  that  Doctor  Gaskell  had 
found  out  about  their  whisky-smuggling  business;  he 
said  his  mysterious  chieftain  had  ordered  Gaskell 
killed  for  that.  If  Rutledge  is  this  leader  w^hom  Sat- 
terfield's  so  afraid  of — and  it  looks  that  w'ay — he 
ordered  the  killing  because  Gaskell  knew  too  much. 
You  hadn't  a  thing  to  do  with  it.     And  then  he  came 


232  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

down  here  to  do  it  himself;  wouldn't  trust  Satter- 
field,  I  suppose." 

He  began  to  pace  the  floor;  six  long,  loose  strides 
this  way,  a  turn,  and  six  more  back.  On  the  hearth- 
rug he  stopped. 

"It's  plain  enough  now.  Gaskell  was  murdered 
by  the  moonshiners  for  fear  he'd  break  up  the  busi- 
ness. And  Rutledge  did  the  killing.  Now  all  we've 
got  to  do  is  round  up  Roaring  Lafe  and  fetch  him 
down  here  to  stand  trial.  Once  he's  safe  in  jail, 
Satterfield  will  probably  get  over  his  fright  enough 
to  testify  against  him;  nobody  looks  quite  as  danger- 
ous, once  he's  been  quietly  arrested  and  locked  up." 

Anne  Christie  cried  out  upon  him.  "Oh,  no,  no! 
You  mustn't,  you  can't !  You'll  be  killed !  And,  any- 
how"— plucking  up  courage  at  the  thought — "it 
w^ouldn't  do  any  good;  you  can't  find  anybody  to 
serve  a  w^arrant  on  Roaring  Lafe.  The  sheriff 
w^ouldn't  go  up  on  Devil's  Branch  for  anything,  and, 
if  he  did,  nobody  could  find  Lafe  Rutledge,  once  he'd 
taken  to  the  laurel." 

"Humph!"  said  Somers.  "You're  forgetting  some- 
thing." He  touched  the  star  on  his  breast.  "I'm  a 
perfectly  good  deputy  sheriff  myself.  I  can  serve 
a  warrant.  Even  if  that  is  another  county,  I  guess 
w^e  can  stretch  a  point  of  \a.\\\  Maybe  the  sheriff 
over  there  will  deputize  me,  too." 

He  cut  her  further  protests  short.  "It's  getting 
late;  why,  it's  after  midnight!  We'll  all  go  to  bed 
and  make  our  plans  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  TRIP  TO   THE   MOUNTAINS 

NEXT  morning  at  breakfast  Doctor  Somers  set 
forth  his  plan.  For  once  all  the  people  of 
Fort  House  sat  down  together;  even  Aunt  Mary 
appeared  in  time  to  be  wheeled  to  her  place  before 
we  were  seated. 

I  will  go  up  into  the  mountains,"  he  announced. 
I'll  start  this  evening,  spend  the  night  in  Asheville, 
and  go  on  to-morrow.    How  far  is  it,  Anne?" 

*'A11  of  twenty  miles,  the  way  one  has  to  go,  and 
no  roads  worth  speaking  of.  You  can't  drive  a 
car."  The  girl  was  very  pale;  there  were  bluish 
shadows  beneath  her  eyes.  She  spoke  reluctantly  and 
seemed  determined  to  make  the  way  as  difficult  as 
might  be.  "And  you'd  never  find  the  place  without 
a  guide." 

*'Humph!  If  I  can't  drive  a  car,  I  can  ride  a 
horse.  They  taught  us  equitation  in  the  army — what, 
Peter,  old  son?  Also,  I  can  walk;  my  legs  are 
long  enough.  And,  if  you'll  draw  a  map,  I'll  en- 
gage to  find  the  Devil's  Branch.  I'm  not  easy  to  lose, 
even  in  the  mountains." 

Miss  Christie  still  objected,  and  Dorothy  seconded 
her.  "It  won't  do  any  good,"  she  declared.  "You'll 
get  lost,  or  killed,  and  Lewis  needs  you  here.  Why 
not  just  go  to  the  sheriff  or  the  district  attorney  and 
swear  out  a  warrant,  and  let  the  police  arrest  him? 
That's  their  business." 


234         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Somers  shrugged.  *'Swear  out  a  warrant?  On 
what  grounds?  He  was  in  town — Rutledge,  I  mean 
— and  he  had  threatened  to  shoot  Doctor  Gaskell 
several  years  ago.  That's  all  we  could  prove.  Sat- 
terfield  won't  testify;  he  wouldn't  even  admit  to 
me  that  Rutledge  was  the  man  whom  he  saw.  And, 
if  we  could  get  a  warrant  on  that,  your  name  would 
have  to  be  signed  to  it,  as  complaining  witness,  and 
Rutledge  would  know  where  you  are,  Anne.  And, 
if  the  sheriff's  afraid  of  him,  as  you  say,  Rutledge 
wouldn't  be  caught  anyhow.  He'd  be  warned,  have 
a  chance  to  hide  out,  and  maybe  to  slip  down  here 
and  make  trouble  for  you.  I  wish  old  man  Redden 
were  the  sheriff  of  Whitfield  County  up  there!  I'll 
bet  he  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  Roaring  Lafe!" 

He  paused,  looking  about  the  table,  with  half- 
whimsical  seriousness.  ''And,  furthermore,  my  chil- 
dren, have  you  considered  that  I  shan't  be  perfectly 
safe  here  in  Pinelands  from  now  on?  No,  nor  you 
two,  either."  He  jabbed  at  Peter  and  me  succes- 
sively with  a  long,  bony  finger.  "When  Satterfield 
reports  to  his  mysterious  chief  and  tells  him  that 
the  three  of  us  know  all  about  this  whisky-running 
game  of  theirs,  it's  quite  on  the  cards  that  Mr. 
Roaring  Lafe  may  decide  we  could  all  be  spared, 
just  like  Gaskell.  Suppose  we  just  stayed  here  and 
did  nothing,  and  a  couple  of  sturdy  bootleggers  am- 
bushed Fort  House  and  shot  us  up?" 

Here  Aunt  Mary  interposed.  She  had  been  wait- 
ing,  open-mouthed,    for   a   chance  to  interrupt. 

"I  won't  have  it!"  she  declared  shrilly.  "I  can't 
stand    it!      My    rest   is   broken   enough   now;    those 


A  TRIP  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS  235 

miserable  birds  are  driving  me  frantic;  I  haven't 
a  bit  of  rest,  and  nobody  cares  if  I  die  of  exhaustion. 
But  this  is  too  much.  You'll  have  to  go,  all  three 
of  you!  You'll  have  to  leave  Fort  House  at  once. 
No,  Dorothy,  I  insist.  I  will  be  heard  for  once.  I've 
submitted  to  being  ignored  and  put  aside  and  slighted 
long  enough.  Nobody  considers  me  any  more;  no- 
body seems  to  care  whether  I  live  or  die.  As  if 
Lewis  Parker,  a  big,  healthy  young  man,  weren't 
lots  more  comfortable  in  jail  than  I  am  here,  lying 
on  my  bed  of  pain!  It's  absurd — it's  monstrous! 
But  I  wall  assert  myself  for  once:  Either  you  men 
leave  this  house,  all  three  of  you — Peter's  no  more 
help  or  comfort  to  me  than  you  others — either  you 
leave  Fort  House,  or  I  will!'* 

We  stared  uncomfortably,  the  others,  no  doubt, 
as  much  amazed  as  I  was  by  the  old  lady's  colossal, 
callous  selfishness.  For  she  had  not  a  cent  of  her 
own,  and  she  was  a  pensioner  upon  the  bounty  of  her 
nephew  and  niece. 

''You  can  stay,"  she  went  on,  *'but  if  you  do,  I 
go  to  a  hotel  this  very  morning.  I  w^on't  have  my 
life  endangered;  I  won't  have  my  rest  broken  any 
longer!  Why,  this  whole  affair  of  the  murder  has 
annoyed  me  beyond  endurance."  One  would  have 
thought  that  we  had  planned  Doctor  Gaskell's  death, 
with  malice  aforethought.  ''But  I've  stood  all  I  can. 
Dorothy,  phone  to  the  Pinelands  House  at  once  and 
engage  two  rooms  and  bath  for  me.  And  you'd 
better  pay  them  a  week  in  advance,  too." 

*'Humph,"    said   Doctor    Somers,   placidly.      ''You 


see?" 


2z'o  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Dorothy  nodded  reluctantly.  Miss  Christie  said 
nothing.     She  was  very  pale. 

Somers  rose.  ''It's  settled,  then.  I  start  for  the 
mountains  to-night.  And,  Peter,  you  and  Uncle 
George  had  better  come  along,  I  think.  You  can 
put  up  at  a  hotel  in  Asheville.  I  really  think  you'll 
be  safer  there  than  to  stay  in  Pinelands  just  now." 

"Oh,  we'll  come,"  I  answered  for  both  of  us.  "But 
you  needn't  think  we're  going  to  stay  at  any  hotel 
and  let  you  go  off  alone.  You  need  somebody  to 
look  after  you,  man!" 

"Humph!  Well,  we  can  settle  that  later."  He 
pushed  back  his  chair  and  bowed  to  Aunt  Mary. 
"And  now,  madam,  we'll  relieve  you  of  the  distress 
of  our  presence.  Come  along,  you  chaps,  we'll  stay 
at  Uhlman's  house  until  train  time."  He  bowed 
ironically  and  stalked   out. 

As  I  followed,  I  saw  Dorothy  turn  upon  her  aunt, 
her  face  white  with  anger,  her  eyes  flashing.  I 
grinned  inwardly,  feeling  that  for  once  the  old  lady 
was  about  to  hear  some  sharply  wholesome  truths. 

I  hurried  after  my  companions.  "Pack  a  bag, 
each  of  you,"  ordered  our  leader.  "Put  in  things 
for  a  week,  anyhow.  And  bring  your  field  glasses, 
Peter,  and  that  pistol  of  yours.  Wish  we  had  three 
of  them!" 

"I've  got  one  at  home,"  I  said,  "a  police  revolver. 
I'll  bring  that." 

Miss  Christie  hurried  past  us,  as  we  stood  in  the 
hall,  and  returned  in  two  minutes.  "Here!"  ^he 
thrust  something  into  Somers*  hand.  "TaKe  that  and 
use  it  if  you  must.     And,  oh,  mv  dear,  be  careful!" 


A  TRIP  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS  217 

She  was  gone  in  a  breath,  leaving  the  lanky  phy- 
sician staring  down  in  bewilderment  at  a  businesslike 
revolver,  whose  wooden  butt  was  battered  and  worn. 

»  Our  few^  preparations  made,  for  we  w^ere  to  go  in 
light  marching  order,  we  spent  the  day  perfecting 
our  plans,  such  as  they  were. 

*Tor  we  don't  know  what  we'll  find  up  there," 
explained  Somers.  "The  best  we  can  do  is  to  get 
in  touch  w4th  Rutledge  in  some  w^ay,  avoid  suspicion 
if  we  can,  and  trust  to  luck  for  the  rest.  Maybe 
he'll  talk;  maybe  w'e  can  get  him  out  alone,  hold 
him  up  and  take  him  down  the  mountains,  at  pistol's 
point.  I'll  be  a  'lunger,'  I  guess;  I  look  the  part." 
lie  surveyed  his  lean  face,  hollow  chest,  and  extraor- 
dinarily thin  limbs  in  my  mirror.  "Yes,  I'm  a  con- 
sumptive, ordered  up  into  the  mountains  to  live. 
You're  my  uncle,  Uhlman,  and  Peter — oh,  he  can 
be  the  builder  who's  going  to  put  up  a  cabin  for  me. 
We're  up  in  the  hills  looking  for  a  site,  so  I  can 
have  a  house  there,  live  alone  in  the  balmy  pine 
woods,  and  strive  to  recapture  my  lost  health — and 
all  that  rot.     How  about  it?" 

He  grinned  and  w^ent  on  humorously.  "You  know, 
dear  ones  and  kind  old  things  both,  I  fancy  my  health 
is  in  considerable  danger,  at  that!  If  I  should  meet 
Satterfield  in  the  dark  somewhere,  Old  Man  Trouble 
and  I  w^ould  m.eet  just  about  the  same  time.     What?" 

And  he  spoke  even  more  truly  than  he  knew.  For 
at  dusk  that  night,  as  the  train  pulled  out  of  Pine- 
lands,  Somers  sat  beside  me  in  the  smoking  car,  his 
lean,  bold  profile  clearly  outlined  against  the  lighted 


238  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

window.  From  the  dark  without  it  must  have  made 
an  excellent  mark. 

No  one  had  loitered  about  my  house  that  day;  no 
one,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  had  watched  us  climbing 
into  the  ''shoo-fly"  train. 

But,  as  we  panted  out  of  the  village  and  began  to 
labor  up  a  steep  grade  between  high  embankments, 
gathering  speed  slowly,  a  round  hole  sprang  sud- 
denly into  being  in  the  window,  just  beside  Somers' 
head,  and  a  bullet  sang  past  my  nose,  like  an  angry 
wasp,  bit  through  the  window  opposite,  and  whined 
away  into  the  night. 

''Humph!"  said  Somers  calmly,  brushing  bits  of 
glass  from  his  lap.  He  looked  at  the  window,  where 
a  star  of  cracks  radiated  from  that  sinister  hole. 
''Humph!  A  couple  of  inches  this  way,  and  one  of 
the  best  little  old  medico-legal  experts  extant  would 
have  ceased  abruptly.  I  told  you  we'd  be  safer  out- 
side of  Pinelands  for  a  while!" 

The  brakeman  hurried  through,  stopped  to  survey 
his  damaged  windowpanes,  and  scowled  blackly. 

"Some  darn  fool  gettin'  fresh!"  he  muttered. 
"Lettin'  off  a  rifle  gun  that  a  way  an'  never  lookin' 
to  see  where  th'  bullet'd  go.  The  fool!  They's  too 
much  cawn  liquor  round  Pinelands  these  days!" 

"Quite  right,  my  friend,"  replied  Somers  solemnly. 

Some  one  touched  Somers'  shoulder.  We  both 
turned  to  face  the  man  in  the  seat  behind  us,  a  quiet, 
unobtrusive  person,  gray-clad,  gray-haired,  with  a 
very  keen  gray  eye. 

*'Did  you  know  that  bullet  was  meant  for  you?" 
he  asked  casually. 


A  TRIP  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS  239 

The  physician  nodded.  ''Oh,  yes,  certainly!"  He 
was  as  cool,  as  detached  of  manner,  as  the  stranger, 
and  those  keen  eyes  gave  him  an  admiring  glance. 

'T  happened  to  get  a  good  look  at  the  fellow," 
the  other  went  on.  ''He  showed  up  against  the  sky 
line,  there  on  top  of  the  embankment,  and  he  had 
a  fine  bead  on  you." 

Somers  nodded  equably.     "Thanks,  old  man!" 

"Broad-brimmed  felt  hat,"  continued  the  other; 
"big,  bushy  mustache;  looked  like  a  pirate.  Know 
him?" 

My  companion  nodded  again,  but  showed  no  dis- 
position to  satisfy  the  gray  man's  curiosity  further. 

As  the  crow  flies,  Asheville  is  not  much  over  forty 
miles  from  Pinelands;  but  to  reach  it  one  must  go 
to  Raleigh,  and  there  you  change  from  one  line  to 
another,  making  it  a  trip  of  several  hundred  miles. 
Somers'  estimate  of  time  was  too  sanguine;  we 
could  hardly  reach  Asheville  before  morning. 

As  we  disbarked  at  Raleigh,  I  saw  the  man  in  gray 
once  more.  He  had  followed  us  from  the  train; 
he  stood  in  w^hispered  talk  with  another  quiet,  incon- 
spicuous person,  and  I  thought  that  he  pointed  us 
out.  It  may  have  been  my  imagination;  no  doubt  it 
was.  For  the  other  stranger,  after  loitering  about, 
while  we  bought  tickets  and  berths,  stepped  up  to  the 
window  and  asked  a  question,  then  strolled  out  of  the 
station,  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 

No  doubt  it  was  a  mere  coincidence,  also,  that 
the  quiet  gray-haired  man  entered  the  Asheville 
sleeper  with  us  and  deposited  a  modest  leather  hand 
bag  in  the  section  across  the  aisle. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ROARING   LAFE 

WE  reached  the  city  of  Asheville  in  the  early 
morning  and,  upon  Somers'  direction,  entered 
a  taxicab  and  had  ourselves  driven  to  a  hotel. 

"We'll  breakfast  there,"  he  decided,  ''and  find  out 
a  fev^  things.  Then  I'll  get  a  saddle  horse  and  start, 
and  you  two  will  wait  for  me  here." 

''Not  much!"  said  I. 

"Nix!"  declared  Peter.  "You  can't  lose  us;  why, 
man,  where's  that  gorgeous  idea  of  being  a  consump- 
tive, unless  we're  along?" 

Somers  shrugged.  "Have  it  your  own  way,  but 
it's  taking  a  long  chance,  fellows.  This  thing  is 
serious;  I  hardly  believed,  myself,  that  they'd  go  so 
far,  until  that  chap  shot  at  me  last  night.  It  was 
Ralph  Satterfield,  all  right,  and  no  doubt  he  thought 
we  were  on  our  way  to  Raleigh  to  see  the  collector. 
He'll  have  hurried  over  here  cross-country  before 
this,  in  Conover's  car,  no  doubt.  If  we  should  meet 
up  with  him  in  the  hills  we're  as  good  as  dead 
men." 

I  nodded  soberly.  "And  if  we  give  that  fellow, 
Vanbrugh,  a  free  hand,  my  nephew  is  as  good  as  a 
dead  man,  too.  No,  Somers,  I'm  going  along.  Peter 
can  stay  here  if  he  likes." 

But  Peter  did  not  consider  this  suggestion  worthy 
even  to  be  scorned.  "After  breakfast,  what,  chief?'' 
he  asked. 


ROARING  LAFE  241 

"We  hunt  up  a  revenue  agent.'* 

Wondering  if  our  leader  would  report  the  activities 
of  Satterfield  and  Rutledge  after  all,  we  went  to  see 
the  revenue  agent.  When  we  were  shown  into  the 
quiet,  businesslike  office  of  the  department  of  internal 
revenue,  Somers  merely  asked  for  information  as  to 
one  Lafe  Rutledge.  "I'm  told  he  killed  a  revenue 
agent  some  years  ago,"  he  explained.  ''Was  he  tried 
for  that?" 

The  clerk  eyed  us  dubiously.  "I  can't  give  out 
any  statement,"  he  told  us.  "You  can  see  the  chief 
if  you  like.     What  are  you,  newspaper  men?" 

Somers  handed  him  a  card,  and  presently  we  were 
shown  into  an  inner  office.  Facing  us  from  behind 
a  flat-topped  desk  sat  the  same  quiet,  gray-haired 
man  who  had  sat  behind  us  on  the  train. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  about  the  man  Rut- 
ledge ?"  he  asked,  looking  at  Somers'  card.  Then : 
"Hel-lo!  You're  the  chap  Satterfield  was  potting  at 
last  night !" 

"So  you  knew  the  man's  name  all  the  time?"  asked 
Somers,  a  bit  taken  aback. 

The  other  nodded.  "This  office  is  deeply  inter- 
ested in  Mr.  Ralph  Satterfield,"  he  said  grimly, 
"also  in  the  gentleman  after  whom  you  are  inquir- 
ing this  morning.  Suppose  we  have  a  showdown, 
doctor?  I'm  not  the  local  chief;  I'm  on  special  duty 
here,  but  I  can  tell  you  all  this  department  knows 
about  Roaring  Lafe.     What's  your  interest  in  him?" 

Our  leader  sat  down.  "Perhaps  you  know  who  I 
am,  too?" 

"Oh,  yes;  Doctor  Floyd  Somers.    You  came  from 


242  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

New  York  to  be  the  best  man  at  Doctor  Parker's 
wedding;  and  this,  no  doubt,  is  the  doctor's  uncle, 
Mr.  Uhlman — and  Peter  McGregor?" 

We  bowed,  wondering. 

"We  looked  you  up,  doctor,"  explained  the  revenue 
agent,  ^'because  you  were  pretty  thick  with  Satter- 
field  for  a  while.     What  was  the  idea?" 

Somers  leaned  forward.  "You  know  about  Doctor 
Gaskell's  murder,  and  the  arrest  of  my  friend 
Parker?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes!  In  fact,  this  investigation  was  begun 
upon  information  furnished  the  collector  by  Gaskell." 

"Well,  then!"  Somers  told  him  everything 
frankly,  including  our  suspicions  of  Rutledge. 

The  government  man  listened  with  grave  interest. 
"H'm,"  said  he,  when  the  tale  was  done.  "Our 
local  men  seem  to  have  overlooked  a  lot.  We  didn't 
go  behind  the  verdict  of  the  coroner's  court  and  the 
grand  jury;  took  it  for  granted  Parker  killed  Gaskell 
because  of  some  personal  quarrel.  Coarse  work, 
very!  Some  one  will  get  a  stiff  call  for  this!  Of 
course  Rutledge  did  it.  I  should  have  thought  of 
that  myself.  Well,  after  all,  that  is  merely  inci- 
dental; it  doesn't  affect  the  main  work  of  this  office, 
w'hich  is  to  break  up  the  illicit  manufacture  and  sale 
of  alcoholic  liquors.  And  now,  gentlemen,  what  can 
I  do  in  return?" 

"Tell  us  about  Rutledge.  Is  he  in  hiding?  Is 
there  any  criminal  charge  against  him?  Did  he 
really  murder  one  of  your  men?" 

The  agent  nodded  soberly.  "There's  not  a  doubt 
of  it  in  my  mind,  but  we've  no  legal  proof.     No, 


ROARING  LAFE  243 

gentlemen,  there^s  no  criminal  charge  out  against 
Roaring  Lafe — as  yet.  And  he's  not  in  hiding; 
he's  living  openly  in  his  own  house,  on  Devil's 
Branch,  back  in  the  hills." 

Somers  rose.  *'I  thought  this  was  the  safest  place 
to  make  inquiries,"  he  explained.     ''Thank  you,  sir." 

"Hold  on  a  minute!  This  office  is  indebted  to  you 
for  your  information,  though  I  may  say  we  knew 
most  of  these  things  before,  except  your  suspicions 
about  Gaskell's  murder ;  can't  we  help  you  some  way  ? 
What  are  your  plans?" 

The  physician  grinned.  **Why,  just  to  find  this 
Roaring  Lafe  and  have  a  chat.  I'll  tell  him  Satter- 
field  has  admitted  that  he  saw  Gaskell  shot,  and  that 
Rutledge  did  it — and  see  what  happens.  Then  I'll 
try  to  induce  him  to  come  along  to  jail  wath  us,  if 
I  can." 

''You'll  get  yourselves  killed,  the  three  of  you!" 

Somers  shrugged.  "It's  quite  possible,  but  it  is 
my  business  in  life  to  extract  information  from  folks 
who  don't  want  to  give  it.  After  one  has  practiced 
enough  at  getting  statements  from  lunatics  who 
haven't  spoken  a  word  for  years,  it  ought  not  to  be 
so  hard  to  badger  an  ignorant  old  man  into  confess- 
ing murder.     I'm  game  to  try,  at  least." 

"H'm!  I  think  you're  a  fool,  but  go  ahead,  if 
you  insist.  Remember  this,  though:  That  you  never 
saw  a  lunatic  as  dangerous  as  Lafe  Rutledge." 

With  that  pleasing  assurance  in  our  ears  we  left 
the  revenue  office  and  hired  saddle  horses  for  our 
trip  into  the  hills.  It  was  noon  before  we  had 
topped    the    long    slope,    which    leads    up    past    the 


244  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"Castle/'  and  left  the  concrete  road  to  strike  back 
along  zigzag  red  clay  roads,  which  led  us  into  the 
hinterland.  We  paused  for  one  look  back  toward 
civilization. 

**Weli,''  said  I,  staring  down  at  the  ordered  streets, 
centering  in  Pack  Square,  with  its  tall  granite  obelisk, 
*'we  may  not  all  of  us  come  back  this  way." 

''Cheerful  old  soul!"  replied  Peter,  shifting  in  his 
saddle.  "This  nag  has  a  beastly  sharp  backbone;  I 
can  feel  it  right  through  the  leather.  You  might 
have  stopped  for  lunch,  at  least,  Somers." 

"Have  another  sandwich,"  suggested  our  leader 
callously;  for  he  had  vetoed  a  further  stay  in  the 
city.  "Eat  as  you  ride.  We  want  to  get  somewhere 
before  dark,  and  we've  twenty  miles  to  go." 

We  struck  back  into  the  hills.  Our  patient  horses 
scrambled  up  precipitous  slopes,  panting,  sliding  in 
the  rough  red  clay;  we  slid  down  other  slopes  as 
steep,  where  the  zigzag  paths,  that  ran  back  and 
forth,  seemed  sharper  than  the  pitch  of  a  roof,  and 
the  hillside  itself  was  almost  straight  up  and  down. 
The  roads  grew  rougher  and  stonier  and  narrower, 
until  they  were  mere  bridle  paths,  mere  trails,  which 
wound  and  separated  and  forked  and  joined  be- 
wilderingly. 

Mile  after  mile  we  rode,  growing  horribly  saddle 
sore  in  the  riding.  The  country  about  us  was  wild, 
primeval;  tall  pines  masked  the  hillsides,  interspersed 
with  spruce  and  live  oak  and  great,  dense  growths 
of  that  rhododendron  which  the  mountain  folk  call 
"laurel."  Here  and  there,  huddled  upon  the  steep 
slopes,  a  tiny,  unpainted  shack  overhung  the  wind- 


ROARING  LAFE  245 

ing  road,  its  cornfield  miraculously  clinging  to  the 
side  of  a  precipice.  Dozens  of  lop-eared  hound  dogs 
regarded  our  passing  with  mournful  gravity,  or  made 
headlong  dashes,  boiling  out  in  baying  mobs  from 
beneath  forlorn  shacks  to  snap  at  our  horses'  fet- 
locks. Sometimes  a  slatternly  woman  in  a  calico 
dress,  roused  to  languid  curiosity  by  their  racket, 
came  to  an  open  door  and  looked  after  us  with  in- 
different, lackluster  eyes.  Of  men  we  saw  nothing, 
save  once. 

Then  I  glanced  up,  warned  by  the  pricking  of  my 
horse's  ears,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  fierce,  bearded 
face,  which  glowered  down  at  us  from  the  rhodo- 
dendrons above  the  trail.  The  sun,  just  dropping 
below  a  peak,  glinted  dully  from  a  long  rifle  barrel, 
as  it  moved  slightly  to  bear  upon  us. 

"Cough,   Somers!     Cough!"   I  whispered. 

Our  leader,  quick  to  grasp  my  hint,  coughed  nobly, 
until  he  swayed  in  the  saddle,  handkerchief  to  his 
lips. 

I  spurred  forward  to  support  him.  ''Easy,  boys,** 
said  I,  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  from  the  hillside 
I  hoped.  "The  mountain  air  is  hard  on  those  lungs, 
but  we'll  find  a  good  place  for  your  house  to-morrow, 
I  hope.  Remember,  the  doctor  said  these  hills  w^re 
the  only  place  you  could  live." 

We  rode  on;  I,  for  one,  with  my  heart  in  my 
throat.  My  back  muscles  quivered  and  flinched. 
But  no  bullet  pierced  them;  no  gunshot  cut  through 
the  silence  of  the  hills.  After  a  mile  or  two  I  ex- 
plained. 

Somers  shrugged.     "They  don't  seem  to  welcome 


ojfi  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

strangers,"  he  admitted.  "Ifs  a  cheery  country." 
His  eyes  followed  the  sharp-toothed,  jagged  hills, 
^Yhich  ringed  us  in;  the  abrupt,  bleak  mountains  of 
North  Carolina,  whose  ridges  are  too  sharp-edged 
for  concealment,  were  all  about  us,  and  the  blue 
sky  showed  between  the  trunks  of  the  single,  strag- 
gling row  of  slender  trees,  which  found  difficult  life 
there.  'The  hills  look  about  as  friendly  as  their 
people.  Still,  I  don't  believe  they'll  shoot  us  with- 
out stopping  to  ask  questions  first." 

With  this  dubious  encouragement  we  rode  on 
through  the  long  shadows  of  sunset,  which  comes 
so  early  there;  for  the  sun  dropped  behind  the  en- 
circling hills  in  midafternoon,  they  were  so  high. 

The  rough  trails  wound  on,  forking  and  twisting, 
and  we  rode  slower  and  slower,  while  our  leader 
puzzled  over  the  map  Anne  Christie  had  drawn. 
Dusk  came  on,  and  then  darkness,  and  still  we  rode, 
Somers  scowling  uncertainly.  At  last  we  made  out 
a  point  of  light  in  the  distance. 

Our  leader  pulled  up.  *'We're  lost,"  he  admitted. 
*T  haven't  an  idea  which  way  to  turn,  even  if  we 
could  see  the  trails,  which  we  can't.  I  move  we  stop 
at  that  house  and  ask  our  way." 

So  we  blundered  on  through  the  darkness,  and 
that  lone  spark  of  light  grew  and  became  the  oblong 
of  an  unglazed  window,  toward  which  our  tired 
steeds  trotted,  unguided.  A  yelping,  baying  ava- 
lanche of  dogs  poured  down  the  slope,  to  bark 
and* snap  at  our  horses'  legs,  and  to  jump  viciously 
up  for  a  grip  upon  our  own.     We  halted. 


ROARING  LAFE  247 

**Hello,  the  house!"  called  Somers,  reluctant  to 
dismount  because  of  the  dogs. 

Abruptly  the  light  above  us  went  out.  We 
heard  a  door  close  somewhere.  Then  the  clamor  of 
the  hounds  lessened,  and  presently  it  ceased.  They 
lowered  their  tails,  began  to  sneak  away,  as  I  could 
see  through  the  dusk.  And  a  harsh  voice  was  raised, 
so  close  to  us  that  I  jumped  involuntarily,  and  my 
horse  plunged. 

"What's  yore  business  here,  strangers?'' 

Somers  coughed  promptly.  "We're  honest 
travelers,"  I  explained.  "My  nephew  here  has  con- 
sumption ;  his  doctor  has  sent  him  into  the  mountains 
to  live,  and  we're  hunting  a  place.  Can  you  tell  us 
how  to  reach  Devil's  Branch?" 

"Devil's  Branch?"  The  man's  voice  held  a  queer, 
interrogative  note.  "Huh!  Strike  a  light,  stranger; 
le'me  look  at  you-all.  Hit's  a  right  onhealthy  place 
for  sick  folks,  the  Devil's  Branch.     Uh-huh!'' 

I  despair  of  reproducing  in  print  his  twanging 
drawl,  his  quaint  idiom,  his  pronunciations,  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  speech  of  the  lowlands,  less  than 
fifty  miles  away. 

Somers  lit  a  match  obediently,  and  its  flickering 
light  shone  on  his  lean,  sallow  face,  exaggerating  the 
hollows  of  his  cheeks,  throwing  his  bold,  hooked 
nose  into  high  relief. 

"Huh?"  asked  the  mountaineer.  "'Member  I  got 
a  bead  on  you-all  agin'  th'  sky  line  I  Are  puny  lookin', 
hain't  yuh?"  Then  with  renewed  suspicion:  "What 
you-all  lookin'  for  on  Devil's  Branch?" 


248         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"A  place  to  build  a  cabin,"  I  told  him. 

"Down,  Tige!"  he  said,  as  one  of  the  hounds 
began  to  yap  again.  "Hit's  a  right  cur'us  place  fer 
furriners.  Don't  look  right  t'  me,  nohow.  Huh? 
Hain't  my  lookout,  no  ways;  hit's  Lafe's  bus'ness. 
You-all  jus'  keep  a-goin'  up  th'  Branch  yander  an' 
pass  two  liT  runs;  at  th'  next  run  don't  go  no 
furderer,  but  turn  up  hit  an'  foUer  'long." 

"How  far?" 

"Hit's  right  smart  of  a  piece — mebbe  two  set- 
downs  an'  a  long  look.     Yassuh,  hit's  all  o'  that." 

"And  how'U  we  know  when  we  get  there?'' 

The  mountaineer  chuckled.  "Ho,  you-all'll  know. 
Ho,  yas!    Hain't  no  wonderment  'bout  that!" 

I  asked  another  question,  but  there  was  no  reply. 
The  man  had  vanished  as  silently  as  he  had  come; 
his  long  gun  barrel  no  longer  showed  faintly,  menac- 
ing us.  I  was  relieved.  We  rode  on,  our  tired 
horses  stumbling  and  laboring  among  the  loose  peb- 
bles, following  directions  as  best  we  might  in  that 
Stygian  blackness. 

We  passed  by  the  two  runs  and  turned  up  the 
third,  which  seemed  to  lead  steeply  up  through  a 
narrow  valley,  almost  a  cafion.  On  either  side  long, 
sharp  ridges  stood  blackly  out  against  the  sky. 

The  way  grew  rougher,  steeper;  the  horses  stum- 
bled over  fallen  logs,  brambles  tore  at  our  clothing, 
unseen  branches  whipped  back  and  cut  smartly  across 
our  faces.  At  last  we  stopped  again,  unable  to  ad- 
vance another  step  through   this   tangled   maze. 

Somers  dismounted.  "Looks  like  we  sleep  out, 
unk,"  he  rem.arked,   forced  cheerfulness  in  his  tired 


\ 


ROARING  LAFE  249 

tones.  "We're  stuck.  I  wish  I  could  lay  my  hands 
on  Roaring  Lafe  Rutledge!" 

A  deep  voice  answered  him  from  the  bushes.  We 
all  started  violently,  and  I  think  I  cried  out. 

"You  kin,  stranger!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  ENEMY 

SOMERS  turned  slowly,  and,  though  it  was  so 
dark,  I  could  see  that  his  hands  were  held  high. 
Peter  and  I  hastened  to  elevate  ours. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked  quietly.  *'What  do  you 
want?" 

A  gruff  laugh  answered  him.  "You  done  said  my 
name,  stranger.  An'  what  does  you-all  want,  an' 
what  fer  are  ye  calling  Roaring  Lafe?" 

"Doctor  Major,  down  in  the  city,  said  you  were 
the  man  to  see,"  replied  Somers  coolly.  "My  name 
is  Winters,  John  Winters.  I've  got  consumption,  and 
they  sent  me  into  the  mountains  to  live.  This  is  my 
uncle,  George  Winters  and  Mr.  Scott.  We  want  to 
buy  land  for  a  cabin  for  me,  and  Mr.  Scott's  going 
to  build  it." 

An  incredulous  grunt  replied,  as  the  bushes 
crackled,  and  a  huge  shape  emerged.  Straining  my 
eyes  through  the  dark,  I  made  out  the  pale  blur  of 
a  white  beard,  which  the  man  stroked  thoughtfully. 

"Don't  yuh  pay  'em  no  mind,  Lafe,"  said  another 
voice,  a  shrill,  ugly  voice,  with  a  tremor  in  it. 
"Shoot  'em  down!    Them's  revenooers !'* 

"You  hark,  Cal  Col!  I  aim  t'  tend  my  bus'ness 
my  own  self.  Git  on  them  bosses,  you-all,  an'  foller 
me.  We-all'll  fetch  *em  up  to  th'  cabin  an'  look  'em 
over  there." 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  ENEMY        251 

We  obeyed  exactly.  Though  Roaring  Lafe  had 
not  thought  it  necessary  even  to  warn  us,  the  re- 
peating rifle  in  his  hand  was  eloquent;  and,  as  we 
spurred  after  his  huge  figure,  another  man  and 
another  broke  through  the  laurel  behind  us,  until  we 
were  flanked  and  followed  by  at  least  half  a  dozen, 
all  carrying  rifles. 

*Tn  for  it  now!"  said  Peter. 

''Shut  up!"  replied  our  leader. 

We  went  on  in  silence,  save  for  the  creak  of  saddle 
leathers,  the  stumbling  footfalls  of  our  horses;  the 
men  all  about  us  moved  like  wraiths,  noiselessly.  We 
mounted  a  steep  grade,  for  I  had  to  lean  forward  to 
keep  the  saddle;  then  we  wound  through  a  tangle 
of  laurel  and  came  out  into  a  clearing,  which  seemed 
almost  light  in  contrast  with  the  blackness  below. 
Before  us  loomed  the  dim  outlines  of  a  big  log  cabin. 
When  we  had  reached  it  our  captor  said: 

''Light  down,  you-all!     Git  in!" 

He  scorned  to  threaten,  even  to  warn  us,  but  his 
rifle  barrel  pointed  his  request.  We  obeyed  without 
words,  ducked  our  heads  to  pass  the  low  lintel,  and 
entered  a  bare,  puncheon-floored  room,  with  a  rough 
stone  fireplace  at  one  end. 

I  looked  about  it  curiously,  as  at  some  remem- 
bered spot.  A  rude  homemade  armchair  stood  before 
the  fire,  and  on  a  stand  beside  it  rested  a  gallon  jug. 
There  Roaring  Lafe  had  sat  many  and  many  a  night, 
year  after  year,  talking  and  drinking.  In  that  corner, 
perhaps,  Anne  Christie  had  huddled,  a  tattered, 
brown-legged  girl  beside  her  mother;  a  half-grown 
maiden,  dreaming  her  dreams  of  the  "settlem^ents ;" 


252  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

a  woman  full  grown,  dainty  and  fair,  recalling  bit- 
terly her  free,  broad  life,  which  seemed  so  hope- 
lessly behind  her,  and  always  frightened;  shivering 
with  fear  of  this  hulking,  ignorant,  bullying  brute, 
Lafe  Rutledge. 

It  was  very  pitiful;  it  made  her  story  more  real, 
more  terrible  in  its  quiet  pathos.  My  eyes  smarted, 
and  I  think  that  Somers*  thoughts  must  have  run  in 
the  same  channel,  for  he  faced  Rutledge  with  a  new 
defiance. 

"Now  what  do  you  mean,"  he  demanded,  "by 
stopping  honest  folks  in  this  fashion?" 

Rutledge  grinned,  showing  long,  yellow  teeth  in 
his  beard.  "W'y,  wa'n't  you-all  a-wishin'  an'  a-honin' 
fer  to  find  Roarin'  Lafe?"  he  asked.  ''What  do 
you-all  aim  to  see  him  about?  What's  yore  busi- 
ness ?     Speak  up,  now  I" 

The  man  called  Cal  Col  interrupted  again,  his 
dry  eyes  darting  hither  and  thither,  his  lean  features 
working  hungrily. 

"Kill  'em,  Lafe!  Kill  'em  right  off!  Them's 
revenooers,  I  tell  ve ;  hain't  no  use  o'  waitin'  fer  'em 
to  lie  to  ye." 

Somers  turned  upon  him  fiercely  enough :  "You 
lie  yourself !'' 

Cal  Col  stepped  swiftly  behind  the  bulky  form  of 
his  leader.     "You  le'  me  be!"  he  whined. 

The  other  mountaineers,  rough,  bearded  men  in 
homespun  and  cowhide  boots,  laughed  and  nudged 
each  other.  I  judged  that  Cal  Col  was  not  a  general 
favorite. 

"Hush   yo'r   yap,   boys!      Hit   hain't   healthy    fer 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  ENEMY        253 

fiirriners  here  on  Devil's  Branch,  stranger.  'F  you 
got  consumption,  I  shore  am  sorry  fer  hit;  but  we- 
all  cain't  have  no  furriners  up  here.  Hit  was  a 
furriner  done  stoled  my  gyurl."  The  craggy,  beet- 
ling brows  drew  down  over  hot  eyes ;  Roaring  Laf e's 
deep  voice  grew  deeper,  louder,  more  unfriendly. 
*'You-all  kin  git,  right  now!  Hank,  guide  'em  out 
an'  onto  th'  trail  fer  Azalea.  They-all  can  fetch 
hit,   come  mornin'." 

"But  not  to-night!"  protested  Somers.  "Our 
horses  are  beat  out." 

''Git!"  repeated  Rutledge  sternly. 

But  now  his  men  began  to  murmur.  *'Look-a- 
here,  Lafe!"  began  the  fellow  called  Hank.  ''Hit 
hain't  safe!  Mebbe  they  hain't  revenooers,  but  they 
sure  kin " 

Rutledge  snorted.  "Hain't  got  sense!"  he  re- 
plied contemptuously.  "An'  they  don't  know  noth- 
m  . 

"Revenooers!"  repeated  Cal  Col  shrilly.  He  made 
a  dash  at  Peter,  the  smallest  of  us,  and  gripped  his 
coat.     "Kill  'em!    A-a-a-ah!" 

It  was  a  howl  of  triumph.  For  Peter's  coat  tore 
open  under  that  clutch,  and  on  his  vest  shone  the 
deputy-sheriff's  star  which  he  had  forgotten  to  con- 
ceal ! 

The  mountaineers  growled  ominously.  "Sneaks! 
Spies!  Revenooers!"  Half  a  dozen  menacing  rifle 
barrels  thrust  out  at  us. 

All  was  lost;  but  we  would  sell  our  lives  as  dearly 
as  we  might.     We  whipped  out  the  pistols,   which 


254  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Rutledge's  contemptuous  confidence  had  left  us,  and 
stood  with  backs  to  the  wall. 

The  door  burst  open,  and  Ralph  Satterfield  dashed 
in,  panting. 

''Lafe!  Hank!  All  here?  Lissen,  fellers,  it's  all 
up!"  He  paused  in  wonder  at  the  tableau;  then  a 
malevolent  grin  plucked  at  his  piratical  mustache. 
*'Well,  dog  my  cats!  You-all  got  'em  a'ready!  Lis- 
sen, Lafe,  them  fellers  is  spies!  They  bin  watchin' 
an'  doggin'  round  an'  seen  us  handlin'  that  liquor 
an'  run  straight  t'  Raleigh  las'  night  to  squeal!  Hull 
revenue  bunch'll  be  onto  our  necks  directly.  An'  they 
come  up  here!"  he  exclaimed,  with  gloating  malice. 
"Ain't  that  nice,  huh?     Kill  'em!'' 

Roaring  Lafe  gestured  the  rifles  aside,  and  be- 
neath the  shaggy  brows  his  eyes  flamed  coldly. 

"Git  back!"  he  said.  I  saw  how  he  had  earned 
his  title.  "Git  back !  Le'  me  settle  this  here !"  The 
cabin  echoed  to  his  roar. 

He  advanced  upon  us.  alone,  empty-handed.  His 
fierce  old  eyes  glowed,  his  thick  beard  fairly  bristled 
with  inhuman  rage.  On  he  came,  full  in  the  face  of 
Somers'  leveled  pistol,  heeding  it  no  more  than  a 
pointed  finger. 

There  was  something  terrible,  superhui-ian,  in  that 
slow,  implacable  advance.  The  power  of  the  man 
shone  out;  I  tasted  to  the  full  that  paralyzing  fear 
Anne  Christie  had  tried  to  voice.  I  felt  that  this 
huge  old  man  was  invulnerable,  unconquerable;  his 
absolute  certainty  beat  down  my  will.  I  suppose  a 
rabbit  feels  thus,  watching  the  advance  of  a  stoat; 
a  bird,  charmed  by  some  venomous  snake,  could  be 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  ENEMY        255 

no  more  helpless  than  I  was  then.  Despite  me,  the 
pistol  barrel  dropped.  I  could  not  resist;  he  had 
only  to  stretch  out  his  hand. 

Beside  me  Peter's  face  showed  white  and  slack; 
beads  of  perspiration  shone  on  it.  His  hands  dropped 
nervelessly. 

But  Somers  grinned.  'Td  hate  to  shoot  my 
father-in-law,"  he  drawled,  "but " 

*'You  needn't,"  said  a  dry,  quiet  voice  from  with- 
out.    "Hands  up,  all!     You're  covered!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


RUTLEDGE    TALKS 


THE  mountain  men  whirled.  Roaring  Lafe  ceased 
his  advance  to  look  over  a  burly  shoulder. 
In  the  doorway  of  the  cabin  stood  the  quiet,  gray 
man,  the  revenue  agent.  Beside  and  behind  him 
were  armed  men;  rifle  barrels  bristled  in  all  of  the 
shack^s  windows.  The  moonshiners  were  surrounded, 
outnumbered,  helpless.  With  one  accord  they 
dropped  their  guns  and  raised  resigned  hands  above 
their  heads,  all  but  Roaring  Lafe.  Bellowing,  he 
sprang  toward  the  door,  the  w^indow,  only  to  turn 
back  from  ready  gun  muzzles.  Then  his  bearded 
face  horribly  contorted,  his  foam-flecked  lips  twitched 
back  from  long,  yellow  teeth,  and  he  sprang  full  at 
Somers'  throat. 

*T'll  tote  yuh  to  death  along  of  me,  anyhow,"  he 
said.     **You  spyin'  sneak!" 

The  revenue  agent  cried  out,  and  I  sprang  for- 
ward. But  in  that  crowded  room  none  dared  shoot, 
for  the  mountaineers  milled  already,  crouching  for  a 
dash.  I  hovered  over  the  whirling  bulk  of  the 
raging  moonshiner,  seeking  to  fire  without  endanger- 
ing Somers'  lank,   convulsively  thrashing  limbs. 

It  was  over  in  an  instant.  The  slender  physician, 
overwhelmed,  fell  sprawling,  apparently  helpless,  his 
left  hand  feeling  along  the  other's  huge  arm.  A 
mere  touch,   it   seemed,   upon  that  mass  of   muscle. 


RUTLEDGE  TALKS  257 

a  strangled  roar,  and  Rutledge's  right  arm  dropped 
helplessly. 

Somers  twisted  in  his  grip  and  freed  a  hand  still 
holding  the  heavy  pistol,  which  Anne  Christie  had 
given  him.     I  gasped. 

But  he  did  not  fire.  Instead,  the  pistol's  lying 
barrel  tapped  his  huge  adversary  neatly  across  the 
base  of  the  skull,  and  Roaring  Lafe  Rutledge  relaxed. 
His  great  arms  all  abroad,  he  settled  slowly  upon 
his  back,  inert  as  a  pole-axed  steer. 

The  physician  rose,  feeling  gingerly  of  his  throat. 
"It's  all  in  knowing  where  to  hit  'em,"  he  said 
hoarsely. 

The  captured  mountaineers  eyed  him  admiringly. 
"Well,  dog  my  cats!"  exclaimed  the  man  called 
Hank.  "Fust  time  ever  I  seed  anybody  best  Roarin' 
Lafe!     I  wouldn't  'a'  believed  it." 

"Come,  men,"  ordered  the  government  agent 
briskly.  "Round  these  fellows  up  and  search  'em. 
You,  Bailey,  Gaines,  and  Lipkowitz,  stick  around. 
We've  made  a  clean  sweep,  I  think;  but  pick  up  any- 
body else  who  comes  in  here,  and  in  the  morning 
destroy  that  still.  You  know  where  it  is,  Gaines,  and 
now  come  along  down.  You  can  ride  the  horses  tied 
outside  there.  Somers,  you  and  your  friends  had 
better  come  with  us.'* 

The  revenue  men  moved  swiftly.  Soon  a  little 
heap  of  pistols  and  knives  lay  on  the  floor  beside 
the  guns  dropped  by  their  prisoners. 

"Take  charge  of  these  weapons,  Bailey,"  ordered 
the  chief  again.  "You  others,  rope  these  chaps  and 
come  along." 


258  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

It  was  done  forthwith,  and  we  all  set  out,  the 
gray-haired  man  in  front,  carrying  an  electric  belt 
lamp,  behind  him  the  seven  prisoners  in  single  file, 
the  right  wrist  of  each  handcuffed.  Each  empty 
cuff  was  knotted  to  a  long  rope  at  four- foot  inter- 
vals, so  that  they  made  a  long  line,  fastened  securely 
together.  Revenue  ofificers  with  ready  rifles  marched 
on  either  side,  while  Somers,  Peter,  and  I  dragged 
wearily  behind. 

I  soon  saw  why  the  prisoners  were  fastened  thus 
oddly,  for  we  plunged  straight  down  the  mountain- 
side, on  foot,  in  a  long  line.  The  slope  was  so  steep 
that  we  all  had  to  clutch  at  the  close-growing  trees, 
climbing  as  if  down  a  steep  ladder.  The  prisoners 
made  heavy  weather  of  it;  their  shackled  arms  were 
hampered,  and  the  rope,  which  bound  them  together, 
was  continually  catching  and  retarding  them.  But, 
with  both  hands  secured,  they  could  never  have  ne- 
gotiated that  dizzying  slant ;  and,  unless  all  had 
been  fastened  together,  one  or  more  would  surely 
have  been  able  to  make  an  escape  on  that  dark, 
wooded  mountainside  which  they  knew  so  well. 

As  it  was,  after  what  seemed  an  age  of  sliding 
and  scrambling  down  grades,  which  just  missed  being 
perpendicular,  we  reached  a  little  clearing  on  com- 
paratively level  ground,  all  breathless  and  scratched, 
our  clothes  half  torn  off.  We  had  come  ten  miles, 
I  suppose.  Already  dawn  was  gray  in  the  east,  and 
I,  for  one,  was  exhausted.  I  hailed  the  motor  cars 
which  awaited  us  with  a  prayer  of  silent  thanksgiv- 
ing. 

My  ccwnrades  seemed  almost  as  tired  as  I,  and  the 


RUTLEDGE  TALKS  259 

gray-haired  revenue  agent  turned  a  drawn,  haggard 
face  to  the  early  Hght. 

"We're  well  out  of  that!"  he  said.  "A  couple 
more  hours  up  there  might  have  seen  an  attempt  at 
rescue.  Roaring  Lafe  has  plenty  of  friends  on  the 
mountain." 

Rutledge  had  preserved  a  somber  silence  ever  since 
he  returned  to  consciousness.  He  stood  with  bent 
head,  his  magnificent  physique  apparently  unwearied 
by  our  forced  march.  Now  and  again  he  turned  a 
queer,  almost  admiring  look  upon  Somers. 

He  did  not  reply  to  the  government  man's  re- 
mark, but  the  fellow  called  Cal  Col  laughed  jeeringly. 


"Yah!"  he  said.  "Lafe  Rutledge  hain't  got  no 
friends  in  th'  mountains  nozif,  no  more'n  he  has  kin- 
folks!  They's  plenty  will  be  glad  that  he's  done 
cotched — roarin'  an  bullyin'  round  like  he  done  I" 
His  snaky  eyes  were  filled  with  malevolence. 

"Shut  up !"  ordered  one  of  his  guards  and  slapped 
him  across  the  sneering  mouth.  I  think  we  were  all 
disgusted  by  his  haste  to  vilify  his  fallen  leader. 

"Yessir,  cap'n,  I  kin  tell  you-all  lots  o'  things.  I'd 
have  turned  up  all  this  moonshinin'  an'  blockadin* 
meanness  long  ago,  on'y  I  done  bin  a-scaret  o'  Lafe 
Rutledge."  He  fawned  upon  the  government  man, 
crooked  teeth  showing  in  a  repulsive,  insinuating- 
smile. 

Rutledge  smiled  bitterly,  but  did  not  speak.  I 
wondered  what  his  thoughts  might  be;  if  he  re- 
gretted now  that  he  had  once  tried  to  force  his  step- 
daughter into  a  marriage  wath  this — this  reptile? 

At  the  end  of  a  rough  wagon  track  stood  three 


26o  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

motor  cars,  a  couple  of  flivvers  and  a  light  express 
truck,  covered  with  wire  gratings  at  either  end. 
Into  this  the  officers  urged  their  prisoners,  still  bound 
together,  and  padlocked  the  grated  door  behind  them. 
The  truck  made  a  tolerable  substitute  for  a  Black 
INIaria,  even  if  its  passengers  had  to  seat  themselves 
upon  the  floor.  An  armed  man  took  his  place  be- 
side its  driver  and  faced  backward  to  watch  the 
prisoners. 

**Drive  on,  Brownell,"  ordered  the  gray  man. 
**And,  remember,  you  in  there,  we're  coming  right 
behind,  with  half  a  dozen  rifles  trained  on  that  truck 
every  minute!" 

We  three  piled  into  one  of  the  flivvers,  and  the 
rest  of  the  government  men  followed,  filling  every 
seat,  clinging  precariously  to  the  running  boards. 

That  was  a  wild  drive  down  the  mountainside, 
though  we  went  slowly  enough,  perforce.  But 
there  was  no  more  than  a  track,  rough  and  un- 
even, winding  among  stumps  and  fallen  trees;  huge 
roots  and  boulders  lay  athwart  it,  so  that  we  were 
shaken  like  corn  in  a  popper,  and  I  wondered  how 
these  cars  had  ever  been  made  to  climb  so  high, 
when  the  going  down  seemed  about  to  wreck  them 
at  every  turn.  The  mountaineers,  huddled  on  the 
floor  of  that  truck,  must  have  suffered  cruelly,  with 
no  seats  to  which  they  might  cling;  but  no  murmur 
escaped  them.  Only  Cal  Col  kept  up  a  constant  wail, 
until  the  man  nearest  him  struck  him  heavily  across 
the  mouth,  silencing  him  effectually. 

At  last  we  were  down,  without  having  broken 
either  a  spring  or  any  of  our  bones,  and  by  seven 


RUTLEDGE  TALKS  261 

o'clock  our  odd  procession  pulled  up  before  the  Ashe- 
ville  city  prison.  The  government  agent  clambered 
stiffly  out.  "I'll  make  a  deal  with  the  chief  of  police 
to  take  care  of  these  birds  until  we  can  bring  them 
before  the  commissioner,''  said  he.  ''Doctor  Somers, 
I'm  greatly  obliged  to  you  and  your  friends.  It 
was  risky,  of  course,  to  use  you  men  as  decoys,  but, 
thanks  to  you,  we  caught  the  whole  gang  together. 
You  brought  in  their  sentinels  for  us,  and  we  had 
a  clear  field.  You  might  have  been  killed,  of  course, 
but  it  came  out  very  well.  Can  I  do  anything  in 
return  ?'* 

Somers  nodded.  ''Why,  yes.  You  can  turn  that 
man  Rutledge  over  to  me,  as  a  regularly  appointed 
deputy  sheriff  of  Carabas  County.  He's  wanted  over 
there.  Ell  get  a  warrant  first  and  serve  it  You'll 
keep  him  safe  until  then?" 

The  other  bowed  a  grim  head.  "Oh,  yes,  and  for 
the  next  twenty  years,  at  least!" 

While  we  talked,  the  prisoners  were  being  un- 
loaded, to  the  curious  delight  of  a  rapidly  gathering 
crowd.  Old  Rutledge  descended  ponderously,  his 
eyes  upon  Somers.  Meeting  that  odd,  almost  friendly 
regard,  the  lanky  doctor  started. 

"Here,  man,"  he  said  excitedly.  "You  can  do  this : 
Give  me  a  chance  for  a  quiet  talk  with  Rutledge 
now.     Maybe  I  can  get  something  out  of  him." 

The  revenue  agent  agreed  readily,  and  in  ten 
minutes  we  faced  the  huge  mountaineer  in  the  little 
ofiice  of  the  jail.  A  stalwart  officer  stood  on  either 
side  of  him,  pistol  in  hand;  for  Roaring  Lafe  was 
too  notorious  to  be  guarded  carelessly. 


262  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Doctor  Somers  leaned  toward  him  impulsively. 
"Look  here,  Rutledge!  There's  a  friend  of  mine  in 
jail,  over  there  in  Pinelands,  waiting  his  trial.  He 
was  married  the  other  day,  and  his  bride  is  waiting 
for  him,  crying  her  eyes  out.  You're  an  old  man; 
won't  you  help  them?" 

The  moonshiner  looked  back  at  him  squarely,  his 
bright  old  eyes  curiously  wistful  and  soft.  'T  hain't 
havin'  no  truck  'ith  furriners,"  he  answ^ered  slowly, 
''but  ril  do  whut  I  kin  for  you,  stranger.  Yore 
th'  fust  one  ever  bested  Roaring  Lafe  yit;  I  cain't 
tell  now  how  yuh  done  hit.     Whut  kin  I  do?" 

''Confess!"  said  Somers  swiftly.  ''You  might  as 
well;  we've  got  you  anyway.  Confess,  and  let  poor 
old  Parker  out  now,  instead  of  keeping  him  until 
you're  tried." 

Rutledge  laughed  hoarsely.  "Confess?  W'y, 
stranger,  hain't  no  need  o'  me  confessin',  hardly. 
They  done  cotched  me,  still  an'  all !" 

"Yes,  for  blockading,  I  know,  but  not  for  mur- 
der." 

"Murder?  What-all  ye  talkin'  'bout,  stranger?  I 
ain't  done  no  killin'  meanness — not  in  Carabas 
County." 

"I'm  talking  about  the  murder  of  Doctor  Gaskell," 
said  Somers  impatiently.  "Don't  try  to  pretend  you 
don't  know  that!  We  can  prove  it  on  you,  only  it'll 
take  longer." 

Roaring  Lafe  stared  at  us.  "But  I  hain't  done  no 
killin'  in  Pinelands,"  he  repeated.  "I'm  a-tellin'  ye 
th'  truth,  stranger,"  he  declared,  not  without  a  cer- 


RUTLEDGE  TALKS  263 

tain   rude   dignity.      ''Don't  ye   go    fer   t'   call   Lafe 
Rutledge  a  liar,  suh!" 

And  then,  seeing  our  puzzlement,  he  leaned  for- 
ward confidentially.  'Til  tell  ye,"  he  said  hoarsely. 
'*ril  tell  you-all  th'  whole  thing.  I  did  aim  for  t' 
kill  Gaskell,  account  o'  this  here."  His  wide  gesture 
indicated  his  guards,  his  handcuffs,  the  jail.  "He 
done  found  out  more'n  he'd  oughter,  an'  I  sont  word 
Satterfield  was  t'  fix  'im,  lessen  he  sh'd  do  whut 
he  done.  An'  'en  I  come  down  t'  Pinelands  my  own 
se'f.  We'd  had  dealin's  oncet,  Gaskell  an'  me,  an'  I 
didn't  aim  t'  do  no  meanness  lessen  I  jist  hadda.  I 
went  to  'is  house,  an'  I  done  sont  'im  word  to  tell  I 
aimed  t'  settle  'ith  him  come  sunup.  An'  I  went  to 
his  house  that  night,  aimin'  for  to  waylay  'im,  come 
mornin',  like  I  said.  Satterfield  was  there,  an'  I  sont 
'im  back,  aimin'  t'  do  th'  job  my  own  self.  Well, 
after  while — long  mebbe  a  hour  afore  sunup — out 
come  Gaskell  'ith  'is  doctor  bag  an'  sot  out  th'oo 
th'  pines  acrost  th'  big  road.  I  follered  after  'im, 
'ith  my  pistol  gun  ready.  He  traveled  'long  th'oo 
them  pines  an'  into  th'  bresh,  an'  me  after  'im, 
ontwel  I — I  seen  th'  ha'nt.  An'  'en  I  lit  out  a-run- 
nin'.     Yessuh!" 

He  stopped,  curiously  shamefaced,  and  stared  at 
Somers,  w^ith  a  sort  of  sulky  defiance. 
You — you  saw  a  haunt — a  ghost?" 
Uh-huh !"  The  tough-souled  old  reprobate  nodded 
violently,  so  that  his  patriarchal  beard  wagged  again. 
"Yassuh!  I  seen  th'  ha'nt,  all  white,  like  in  a 
shroud,  an'  blue  smoke  like  brimstone  'round  about, 
an'  eyes  a-flamin'  dreadful — an'  I  shore  did  light  a 


til 


264  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

shuck  outa  there.     Gentlemen,   hush!     I   don't  aim 
t'  have  no  truck  'ith  ghosteses." 

His  big,  bold  face  was  all  twisted  with  super- 
stitious awe;  the  hand  which  clutched  his  beard  was 
trembling.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  spoke 
the  truth.  Whatever  loose  newspaper  or  waving 
sheet  had  wrought  upon  his  ignorant  fancy,  he  was 
fully  convinced  that  he  had  encountered  a  spirit,  and 
had  been  driven  by  it  from  his  intended  crime. 

''And  you  didn't  shoot  Gaskell?  Did  you  see 
anybody  else  there?     Was  Satterfield  gone?" 

"Nossuh — yassuh.  I  aimed  fer  to  shoot  'im,  but 
I  plumb  didn't!  I  jist  tuck  my  foot  in  my  hand 
an'  lit  a-runnin'.  Ner  I  didn't  see  nobody,  neither. 
I  didn't  look  round,  lessen  th'  ha'nt  was  a-follerin'  of 
me;  but  Satterfield,  he'd  done  gone  back  up  th'  hill 
long  afore  that." 

Somers  groaned  aloud.  I  could  have  wept.  Weary 
as  I  was,  I  had  been  buoyed  up  by  hope  until  now. 
I  had  borne  with  all  this  strain  and  fatigue,  exulting 
within  myself  that  now,  at  last,  Lewis  would  be 
freed.  This  blow  was  too  much.  The  room  whirled 
before  me;  Somers'  face  blurred,  grew  monstrously 
big,  then  receded  from  my  sight.  I  heard  his  voice 
faintly : 

''Well,  then,  in  Heaven's  name,  who  did  kill 
Gaskell?" 

Rutledge's  reply  sounded  fainter  yet,  a  hoarse 
whisper,  trembling  with  superstitious  dread.  *'I 
reckon  hit  musta  been  th'  ha'nt!" 

"The  ghost!"     Somers'  voice  was  reflective,  almost 


RUTLEDGE  TALKS  265 

convinced.  "I  believe  you're  right,  Rutledge;  it  must 
have  been  the  ghost!" 

The  words  seemed  to  come  from  an  immense  dis- 
tance; they  rang  in  my  ears  like  a  knell.  ''Poor 
Somers!"  I  thought.  ''He's  gone  crazy;  he's  off 
his  head  about  this  thing,  just  like  the  rest  of  us!" 

Then  I  lost  consciousness. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  RETURN 

I  WOKE  with  a  start,  in  a  strange  room,  staring 
about  me  in  dull  wonder.  Oh,  well,  it  was 
scarcely  daylight,  and  I  was  still  tired  out.  I  would 
go  back  to  sleep  and  save  my  questions  until  break- 
fast time.  I  turned  over,  yawning,  but  a  familiar 
voice  dragged  me  back  from  slumber. 

"Get  up,  unk!"  It  was  Peter  McGregor.  "You'll 
have  to  get  going;  train  leaves  in  an  hour." 

Again  I  yawned.     "What  time  is  it?" 

"Seven  o'clock."  Then  he  laughed  at  my  exclama- 
tion. "No,  unk,  seven  at  night.  You've  only  slept 
twelve  hours.  Hurry  up,  now,  we've  got  to  be  back 
in  Pinelands  by  morning." 

Reluctantly  enough  I  rose,  every  stiff  old  joint 
aching,  and  tumbled  into  my  clothes.  Peter  and 
Doctor  Somers  were  dressed  and  throwing  their  few 
belongings  into  traveling  bags. 

Presently  we  set  out  for  the  Asheville  station  and 
the  eight-fifteen  train,  w^iich  would  take  us  to 
Raleigh,  a  silent,  disconsolate  trio,  as  much  at  sea 
as  on  the  morning  of  Doctor  Gaskell's  mysterious 
murder.  We  had  followed  trail  after  trail  with  such 
high  hopes;  our  suspicions  had  pointed  here  and 
there;  and  each  suspect  had  cleared  himself.  I 
groaned  aloud  as  we  three  sat  in  the  Pullman  smok- 
ing room. 


THE  RETURN  267 

"All  we  really  know,  up  to  date,"  said  I,  *'is  that 
Gaskell  left  his  house,  and  was  killed  an  hour  before 
Lew^is  came  out  there." 

Somers  nodded.  "Even  that  is  going  to  be  hard 
to  prove,"  he  answered  gloomily.  "One  point  rests 
on  the  unsupported  word  of  a  notorious  blockader, 
a  fellow  more  than  suspected  of  one  murder,  and 
now  under  arrest  for  making  moonshine  whisky. 
Vanbrugh  will  tear  his  evidence  into  tatters,  even  if 
he'll  testify.  And  the  other  point:  that  Gaskell  had 
been  dead  some  time  w^hen  Parker  fired;  it  rests  on 
your  word  alone.  And  you'll  have  to  admit  your- 
self that  you  were  pretty  wtU  upset." 

"Maybe  Rutledge  killed  him,  after  all,*'  I  sug- 
gested weakly. 

"I  doubt  it.  And,  even  if  he  did,  we  can*t  prove 
it.  We  can't  prove  he  even  saw  Gaskell  that  morn- 
ing, except  by  his  own  statement,  which  wouldn't 
go  far  in  law." 

Peter  leaned  forward,  scowling.  "Look  here,"  he 
began.  "Now  don't  get  sore,  unk;  promise?  Be- 
cause, even  if  he  did,  I'm  for  him  all  the  way,  and 
no  doubt  he  had  provocation  we  know  nothing  about. 
But  have  you  thought  that  maybe  Lewis  did  kill  him, 
after  all?  No" — as  I  would  have  gone  over  the 
evidence  once  more — "no,  I  don't  mean  then,  when 
you  heard  the  shot.  But  he  might  have  gone  out 
there  at  four  o'clock;  it  was  quite  light,  even  at  that 
time,  and  he  might  have  met  Gaskell  and  shot  him. 
Then  he  was  scared,  of  course,  and  he  w^ent  to  the 
house  and  cleaned  his  gun  and  reloaded  it  and  came 
back  at  five,  meaning,  no  doubt,  to  pretend  he'd  just 


268  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

found  the  body.  HeM  have  said  he  just  got  up,  and, 
when  he  went  into  that  tangle  after  the  quail,  h% 
found  Gaskell's  body  by  the  path,  dead  and  cold. 
His  gun  would  be  clean,  both  barrels  loaded,  and 
nobody'd  have  suspected  him.  But,  when  he  got  out 
there,  he  tripped,  and  the  gun  went  off  by  accident; 
that's  the  way  it  happened,  you  said  yourself,  unk. 
And  the  constable  just  happened  to  be  coming  past 
and  heard  it,  and  there  he  was!" 

"Nonsense!"  said  I.  "That's  absurd."  But  was 
it?  I  had  to  admit  to  myself  that  it  was  an  adequate 
explanation,  that  it  fitted  most  diabolically  into  all  we 
knew  about  the  case.  I  closed  my  eyes;  I  could  see 
the  whole  thing.  Lewis,  gun  in  hand,  prowling 
through  the  dawn  after  quail;  Gaskell  meeting  him 
on  the  path,  carrying  his  medicine  case ;  the  quarrel. 
There  would  have  been  hot  words;  my  nephew  had 
not  forgotten  his  anger  of  the  day  before.  A  sneer- 
ing laugh,  perhaps,  as  the  older  man  lost  patience; 
Lewis'  unruly  temper  flaming  forth;  the  shotgun  in 
his  nervous  hands,  leveling  itself ;  the  explosion  I 
And  then  my  poor,  impulsive  boy,  shuddering  at  the 
sight  of  a  bleeding  body;  creeping  stealthily  through 
the  bushes,  cleaning  and  reloading  the  gun  with 
hands  that  shook;  waiting  for  the  body  of  his  victim 
to  stiffen;  whipping  round  the  old  house  to  advance 
boldly  down  that  fateful  path — with  what  inward 
tremors  and  self-loathings!  He  comes  on  slowly, 
looking  for  the  body;  it  should  be  about  here.  And 
then  a  stumble;  the  shotgun,  forgotten  in  his  un- 
steady hands,  the  finger  tightening  involuntarily  upon 
its  trigger;  the  second  shot!     And  upon  its  heels  an 


THE  RETURN  2C9 

outcry,   the  pounding  run   of   Constable   Wakefield; 
the  accusation! 

No  wonder  Lewis  had  seemed  dazed!  He  must 
have  thought  it  retribution,  the  accidental  discharge 
of  his  gun  bringing  back  upon  him  all  the  public 
guilt  he  had  sought  so  cunningly  to  conceal. 

And  then  I  shook  my  head  stubbornly.  Lewis 
Parker  do  that?  No!  He  was  my  nephew,  almost 
my  son;  I  knew  him  as  I  knew  myself. 

"Nonsense!"  I  repeated  sturdily.  *'My  boy  never 
did  such  a  thing  as  that.  He  might  have  killed 
Gaskell  in  the  heat  of  passion,  but  he  never  sneaked 
and  hid  afterward,  or  plotted  out  such  a  scheme  as 
that  to  escape.     I  don't — I  won't  believe  it!" 

'T  sure  do  hope  you're  right,  unk,"  said  Peter 
heavily.     ''But  it  does  seem  beastly  logical." 

It  did.  It  was  fiendishly,  horribly  logical.  I  could 
see  that  if  such  an  idea  occurred  to  Vanbrugh,  the 
solicitor,  the  poor  defense  we  could  proffer  would  be- 
come a  boomerang  to  destroy  us.  For,  on  the  face 
of  it,  we  could  make  the  killing  appear  an  accident, 
perhaps;  at  the  worst  an  impulsive,  unpremeditated 
act.  But  this  other,  this  sneaking  off  to  reload  and 
returning  to  discover  the  body — this  cunning  scheme 
frustrated,  as  Vanbrugh  would  make  it  appear,  by 
the  accidental  discharge  of  the  gun — why,  it  made 
my  nephew  a  cold,  deliberate  murderer!  Shuddering 
I  recalled  my  dream  of  the  explosion  of  that  cannon 
in  my  bedroom.  That  must  have  been  the  first  shot, 
the  shot  which  had  killed  Gaskell !  Had  Lewis  pulled 
the   trigger? 

All  this  while  Somers  had  sat  silent,  chin  in  his 


270  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

long,  bony  hands,  a  cigarette  drooping  from  his 
sour,  discontented  hps.     I  turned  to  him  impatiently. 

*'What  do  you  think,  Somers?  You  know  my 
nephew;  is  he  capable  of  such  a  thing  as  that?" 

The  lanky  physician  raised  his  head  and  stared  at 
me  with  deep-set,  inscrutable,  gray-green  eyes.  'T 
told  you  this  morning,"  he  replied.  "From  all  we've 
found  out  Fm  beginning  to  believe  it  was  the  ghost 
killed  Gaskell."  And  his  chin  dropped  again.  Well, 
there  was  little  enough  satisfaction  in  that! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

AN   AGITATED   HOUSEHOLD 

WE  descended  from  the  train  at  the  Pinelands 
depot  into  a  bright,  sunny  morning.  And, 
even  above  the  throbbing  of  the  train,  the  sighing  of 
released  air  brakes,  I  heard  the  strident  cry  of  those 
detestable  quail.  I  shook  my  fist  in  a  paroxysm  of 
unreasonable  fury. 

Those  cursed  bobwhite!  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
them  and  Aunt  Mary's  fool  complaints,  this  thing 
would  never  have  happened. 

We  climbed  into  the  station's  solitary  jitney  and 
had  ourselves  driven  to  Fort  House. 

The  family  were  all  at  table.  Entering  the  dining 
room,  my  eyes  fell  first  upon  Miss  McGregor;  and 
I  was  appalled.  Her  thin  face,  beneath  the  crown 
of  snowy  hair,  was  ghastly,  greenish  pale,  and  the 
delicate  skin  hung  in  bags  beneath  her  eyes.  She 
had  changed  startlingly  in  these  last  two  days.  Poor 
old  woman!  She  was  not  long  for  this  world,  I 
thought. 

Then  my  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  glad,  agi- 
tated outcries.  Dorothy  fell  upon  my  neck,  weep- 
ing, and  clutched  me  tight ;  and  Anne  Christie, 
usually  so  self-contained,  hugged  me,  too,  and  ran 
on  to  grip  Doctor  Somers  by  both  hands. 

"Oh,  Uncle  George!"  exclaimed  Dorothy.  *'0h, 
Peter !"    And  she  put  out  a  hand  to  him.    "We're  so 


272  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

glad  you  came,  so  glad  you're  back,  all  three  of  you! 
It's  been  just  terrible  here!" 

Miss  Christie  nodded  emphatically,  and  they  both 
wept  and  hugged  us  all  and  dragged  us  into  the  din- 
ing room  and  seated  us.  They  were  both  talking  at 
once,  tremulously,  frantically  glad  of  our  coming. 
And  all  this  while  Aunt  Mary  sat,  rigid,  staring  at 
nothing,  her  face  terribly  white  and  old,  too  much 
absorbed  in  her  own  gloomy  thoughts  to  be  either 
glad  or  sorry  we  had  returned.  But  every  time  the 
quail  whistled  outside  the  windows,  she  flinched 
visibly. 

"Now,  then,"  I  began,  as  the  tumult  subsided  a 
trifle,  "what's  all  the  excitement  about  ?  And  where's 
Rosina?"  For  Dorothy  herself  had  gone  to  the 
kitchen  for  our  coffee  and  Miss  Christie  was  bring- 
ing in  the  toast. 

At  that  the  babble  recommenced.  "Rosina's  gone 
— left  this  morning.  Said  she  couldn't  stand  it  here. 
Too  many  'ha'nts  and  ghostesses'  for  her,"  the  girls 
answered,  both  talking  at  once.  "And,  oh,  how  I 
wish  we  could  all  go!    It's  been  just  terrible!" 

"Hold  on,"  said  Somers,  and  the  two  girls  sub- 
sided momentarily.  "One  thing  at  a  time.  First,  let 
us  assure  you.  Miss  McGregor,  that  you  won't  be 
annoyed  because  we  came  back.  The  gentlemen,  who 
would  have  liked  to  abolish  us,  are  all  safe  in  jail." 

"Oh,  goody!  Then  Lewis  is  all  right?"  Dorothy 
glowed  at  the  idea. 

Somers  nodded.  "He'll  be  all  right,"  he  replied 
evasively. 


AN  AGITATED  HOUSEHOLD  273 

Miss  Christie  had  turned  pale.  "And  my — my 
stepfather?" 

"Yes,  Anne,  Rutledge,  too.  He  can*t  trouble  you 
now." 

"And  did  he " 

"No,  it  wasn't  Rutledge,  but  he  told  me  where  to 
look.  However,  that  will  keep.  Now  tell  us,  you 
first,  Anne,  what's  wrong  here?" 

The  nurse  began  obediently.  "It's  the  Poltergeist. 
We've  just  been  frightened  to  death!  Night  before 
last  and  last  night,  too,  all  over  the  house.  Miss 
McGregor  had  sent  me  out,  and  I  was  in  the  living 
room  with  Dorothy,  and  we  heard  awful  shrieks 
from  the  basement.  We  ran  down  there,  and  the 
Poltergeist  had  been  in  Rosina's  room  and  pulled  the 
bedclothes  off  her  and  stuck  pins  into  her  legs,  and 
everything.  And  this  morning  Rosina  packed  up  and 
left,  two  hours  ago.  Wouldn't  stay  to  get  breakfast, 
even.'* 

"That  was  last  night,"  Dorothy  took  up  the  tale. 
"On  the  previous  night  the  Poltergeist  was  in  my 
room  and  smeared  cold  cream  all  over  my  dresser 
and  emptied  my  powder  box  into  the  clothes-press 
and  s-stole  my  wedding  dress  and  s-stuck  it  in  the 
f -furnace.  It's  just  r-ruined  and  spoiled!  I  don't 
believe  any  other  body  ever  had  such  a  time!'' 

"And  we're  all  so  frightened — so  s-scared  that  we 
were  just  saying  if  you  men  didn't  come  back — if 
you-all  left  us  alone  any  longer,  we'd  go  to  the  hotel 
to-night!"    Thus  the  duet  continued. 

"Humph!"  said  Somers  queerly.  "Ghosts  again. 
Perhaps  this  Poltergeist  isn't  as  harmless  as  you  said. 


274  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

when  I  first  came  down  here.  So  it  visited  Rosina 
and  you,  Dorothy.  How  about  you,  Anne?  Did 
you  come  in  for  its  attentions?" 

The  nurse  nodded,  big-eyed.  *'I  sat  in  the  living 
room  last  night  after  Dorothy  got  me  up.  She  was 
afraid  to  go  back  to  bed  and  we  sat  in  there  and 
dozed  off,  I  reckon.  Anyway  the  first  I  knew  I  was 
right  on  the  floor!  The  Poltergeist  had  pulled  my 
chair  out  from  under  me,  and  Dorothy  never  saw 
a  thing,  either!" 

"Not  one  thing!"  Dorothy  corroborated.  "But 
then  I  expect  I  was  asleep,  too.  We're  all  just 
used  up,  Doctor  Somers.  Nobody  in  this  house 
has  had  two  hours  of  sleep  in  the  last  two  nights, 
unless  it  was  Aunt  Mary." 

"Humph!  And  where  was  Miss  McGregor  when 
all  these  things  happened?" 

All  this  while  Aunt  Mary  had  sat  mute,  stonily 
calm,  showing  neither  pleasure  nor  annoyance  at  our 
return,  apparently  quite  uninterested  in  the  pranks 
of  the  Poltergeist.  But  now  she  straightened,  with 
a  queer,  hostile  glance  at  the  physician. 

"Where  was  I?"  she  asked.  "Where  could  I  be? 
I  lay  helpless  in  bed,  where  I'd  been  put,  as  a  poor 
old  paralytic  has  to!  Lay  there  all  alone,  forgotten, 
as  usual !  I  suppose,"  she  went  on  acidly,  "I  should 
have  risen  on  my  poor,  useless  limbs  and  run  out  to 
protect  three  perfectly  healthy  women?" 

'And  did  the  Poltergeist  annoy  you,  too?" 

'Never  mind!     Who  cares  what  happens  to  me? 
I'm  nothing  but   a   helpless   cripple,    a  drag   and   a 


a 


<<■ 


AN  AGITATED  HOUSEHOLD  275 

hindrance."  Her  white  Hps  worked  pitifully.  "But 
I  won't  trouble  anybody  much  longer." 

I  believed  her  this  time;  she  looked  ghastly.  And 
I  pitied  her  sincerely,  in  spite  of  her  callous  selfish- 
ness, her  bitter  tongue. 

Doctor  Somers  pushed  back  his  plate  and  rose. 
"You've  had  a  bad  time,"  he  said,  taking  the  old 
lady's  veined  hand.  "Does  your  spine  trouble  you 
much  to-day?    How  are  the  knots  in  your  neck?" 

His  voice  was  inimitably  gentle,  sympathetic,  win- 
ning. Aunt  Mary  softened  to  it  at  once,  and,  after 
he  had  wheeled  her  into  the  sitting  room,  discussed 
her  ailments  for  an  hour  or  more  in  quite  her  usual 
manner.  The  strain  of  her  pale  face  lessened;  a 
faint  color  returned  to  her  lips.  If  this  were  Doc- 
tor Somers'  bedside  manner,  I  thought,  he  must  be 
a  most  successful  practitioner. 

Gradually  he  led  the  talk  from  Aunt  Mary's  symp- 
toms and  drew  her  on  to  discuss  the  Poltergeist  and 
spiritualism  generally.  The  old  lady  expressed  very 
positive  opinions.  She  had  read  widely  on  the  sub- 
ject, I  could  see,  and  her  talk  was  interesting  enough. 
But  what  Somers'  sudden  interest  in  spiritism  might 
be,  I  could  not  fathom. 

Presently  he  spoke  of  the  ouija  board.  "I  have 
one,"  said  the  old  lady.  "I've  had  many  very  im- 
portant communications  through  ouija." 

Next,  I  scarcely  know  how  it  was  brought  about, 
she  had  volunteered  to  give  us  a  demonstration.  Miss 
Christie  fetched  the  ouija  lx)ard  and  set  it  upon  her 
knees.  Blindfolded,  Aunt  Mary  put  her  finger  tips 
on  the  little  three-legged  indicator,  and  Somers,  also 


276  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

blinded,  followed  suit.  They  sat  there,  knee  to  knee, 
motionless. 

''Some  one  put  a  question,*'  directed  the  old  lady 
sepulchrally. 

"Who — who  spoiled  my  wedding  dress?"  asked 
Dorothy,  a  little  thrill  in  her  voice. 

Under  our  eyes  the  indicator  began  to  move  slowly, 
mysteriously,  apparently  of  its  own  volition.  Leaning 
over  my  shoulder,  Dorothy  read  the  letters  it  pointed 
out  to  the  blindfolded  operators. 

'T-0-L-T-E Why,     Uncle     George!"       Her 

excited  breath  fanned  my  cheek.  "It's  spelling  'Pol- 
tergeist !'  " 

And  so  it  did.  And  the  queer,  superstitious  thrill 
of  the  unexplained  caught  hold  of  us  all.  We 
breathed  quicker,  impressed  in  spite  of  ourselves. 

''Why  does  the  Poltergeist  trouble  us?"  asked 
Miss  Christie. 

Slowly,  mysteriously,  the  ouija  board  answered. 
The  pointer  moved  from  one  letter  to  another  de- 
liberately, surely,  as  though  guided  by  intelligence 
instead  of  by  the  finger  tips  of  two  blindfolded 
people,  of  whom  one,  at  least,  was  surely  a  skeptic. 

"B-E-C-A-U-S-E  0-F  C-R-I-M-E,"  it  spelled. 

"Oh-h!"  gasped  Dorothy.  "Aunty,  quick!  Ask  it 
who  killed  Doctor  Gaskell?" 

The  old  lady  sat  rigid,  motionless  as  a  marble 
statue  and  as  pale.  The  pointer  moved,  hesitated, 
moved  again.     Her  stiffened  arms  began  to  tremble. 

Then  suddenly,  from  beyond  the  window,  came 
the  strident,  insistent  call  of  a  quail :  "BohwJiitc! 
Bohwhite!" 


AN  AGITATED  HOUSEHOLD  277 

Aunt  Mary  screamed.  Her  hands  flew  up,  clawing 
at  the  bandage  about  her  head. 

'T — I  can't  stand  it!"  she  exclaimed.  'Tt's  driv- 
ing me  mad!  Oh,  oh,  oh!"  Her  voice  rose  in  a 
crescendo  of  agony.  ''That  noise — that  noise — it's 
killing  me!"  She  drooped  in  her  wheel  chair,  head 
on  a  shoulder,  translucent  eyelids  flicktring  down,  un- 
conscious. 

"Humph !"  said  Somers  coolly.  ''She's  fainted  this 
time."  He  felt  her  pulse,  lifted  her  fallen  eyelids  to 
peer  at  her  pupils,  tapped  her  knees.  She  moved 
convulsively.  "Get  water,  Anne.  We'd  better  lay 
her  down.     No,  she's  coming  round  all  right." 

Aunt  Mary  opened  tragic  eyes.  "Wh-what  hap- 
pened? Oh,  I  know!  If  I  have  to  listen  to  those 
horrible  birds  any  longer  I'll  die!" 

"I'll  see  to  that,"  said  Somers.  "But  now  you'd 
better  go  back  to  bed.  You're  badly  upset;  I'll  just 
examine  you  a  bit;  then  111  know  just  what  to  do." 

That  did  not  suit,  either.  "No!"  she  answered, 
almost  screaming.  "No,  no,  no!  Get  back,  get  away, 
don't  touch  me!  I  won't  have  it — I  won't  be  ex- 
amined— I  won't,  I  won't!  You've  been  against  me 
every  minute,  ever  since  you  came,"  she  went  on 
wildly.     "You  shan't  touch  me,  I  tell  you!" 

In  her  excitement  she  heaved  herself  up  by  her 
arms,  half  rising  in  her  chair,  as  if  to  flee.  But  her 
legs  failed  her,  and  she  dropped  back,  panting,  help- 
lessly defiant.  "Don't  dare  to  touch  me!"  she  re- 
peated. 

"Humph!"  said  Doctor  Somers,  rubbing  his  chin. 
"Certainly  not,  dear  lady.     Don't  distress  yourself. 


-2^%  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

I  won't  come  near  you  at  all.  But  I  can  do  one 
thing  to  help  you,  anyhow.  I'll  borrow  a  shotgun 
to-day,  and  in  the  morning  after  breakfast  Peter 
and  I  will  go  out  together  and  kill  those  quail,  so 
they  can't  trouble  you  any  more.  They  must  have 
nested  in  the  bushes  back  there." 

The  old  lady  looked  at  him  more  kindly;  but  both 
girls  cried  out  at  this  offer. 
'Oh,  no!"  said  Dorothy. 

'Oh,  please  don't!"  implored  the  nurse.  "Look 
w^hat  happened  when  Doctor  Parker  started  to  do 
that.     He  got  into  just  terrible  trouble!" 

Somers  only  laughed  and  rose.  "Til  run  down 
and  see  Parker,"  said  he.  "You'd  better  lie  down, 
Miss  McGregor." 


<<i 


<<i 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A    BORROWED    SHOTGUN 

I  DECIDED  to  accompany  the  physician,  though 
my  night  on  the  sleeper  had  left  me  pretty  tired. 
But  I  wanted  to  see  Lewis;  so  we  got  out  the  faith- 
ful flivver  and  drove  downtown. 

''Hope  the  old  chap's  been  well  looked  after," 
said  Somers,  "I  left  the  key  with  Wakefield  before 
we  went.  But  no  doubt  Dorothy's  been  there  every 
day." 

We  stopped  at  the  constable's  house,  got  the  lockup 
key,  and  went  on  to  the  jail.  Poor  Lewis  looked 
ill,  I  thought.  Confinement  was  wearing  on  his 
high  spirits;  his  greeting,  though  hearty  enough, 
was  subdued.  We  told  him  of  our  trip  to  the  moun- 
tains, and  its  negative  result.  He  shook  his  head 
hopelessly. 

^'Mighty  good  of  you  both,  but  it  was  no  use. 
Nothing's  any  use  now ;  I  can  feel  it ;  I  know  it ! 
Some  dreadful  fate  is  against  me ;  I'm  doomed. 
They'll  convict  me  of  this  murder  as  surely  as  I  sit 
here." 

"Lewis,"  said  I  impulsively,  "Peter  suggested  that 
perhaps  you  did  kill  Gaskell  at  four  o'clock,  then 
cleaned  the  gun  and  came  back,  meaning  to  pretend 
to  discover  the  body.     You — you  didn't  do  tliat?" 

He  smiled  sadly.  "You  see?  Even  Peter  believes 
I  did  it.     And  you  had  your  doubts,  unk.     There's 


28o         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

no  hope  for  me — none  at  all.  No,  Uncle  George, 
I  didn't  do  that.  If  I  shot  Gaskell  at  all,  it  was 
just  as  I  told  you:  at  five  o'clock,  and  by  accident. 
I  didn't  even  know  he  was  there." 

**Buck  up,  Parker,"  said  Somers.  "Things  are 
beginning  to  look  bright  for  you." 

Just  vague  optimism,  I  thought;  and  so  did  Lewis. 

But  before  he  could  reply  some  one  knocked  on 
the  jail  door.  I  unlocked  it,  and  Wakefield  appeared, 
escorting  the  sheriff. 

"Howdy,  people!  Mr.  Uhlman,  I  hear  you-all  was 
up  to  the  hills  recent?" 

I  nodded;  and  in  response  to  his  keen  questioning, 
Somers  and  I  told  him  all  that  had  transpired  there. 

"H'm,"  said  he  reflectively,  fingering  his  absurd 
white  mustache.  "H'm!  So  Satterfield  an'  Roarin' 
Lafe  was  thereabouts  'at  mornin'?  Yeah,  I  kinda 
s'picioned  them  two.  Y'  see,  Gaskell  come  t'  me 
'bout  th'  cawn-liquor  trade ;  it  was  me  sent  word  t' 
Raleigh  on  his  say-so.  Yeah,  I  kinda  reckoned  mebbe 
one  or  other  o'  them  two  mighta  done  'at  killin'. 
But  they  claimed  it  wa'n't  neither  of  'em  done  it, 
an'  you-all  believed  'em  both,  huh?  H'm !  I  done 
studied  about  this  here  killin'  a  right  smart,  one  time 
an*  another.  I  reckoned  Vanbrugh  was  all  wrong. 
H'm!  Well,  gentlemen,  I  reckon  you-all  ain't  a-goin' 
t'  need  them  depitty  stars  no  longer.  Y'  see  th' 
county  jail's  'bout  fixed  now.  Oh,  they's  a  right 
smart  o'  work  left — kinda  sorry-lookin'  place  yit,  all 
scorched,  but  I  reckon  we  better  carry  Doc  Parker 
over  yonder  ag'in.  H'm!  I  better  take  them  stars. 
You-all  c'n  tell  young  McGregor  he's  resigned;  he 


A  BORROWED  SHOTGUN  281 

ain't  a  depitty  no  more.  He  c'n  turn  in  his  badge 
to-morrow.  Rufe  here  c'n  keep  'at  lockup  key,  an' 
I'll  send  a  reg'lar  depitty  over  t'  keep  him  comp'ny 
an'  carry  th'  doc  t'  jail  ag'in  to-morrow  mornin'. 
H'm!  Good  day!"  He  nodded  slightly  and  waddled 
out. 

Lewis  sighed  dispiritedly.  *'You  see,  unk!  Red- 
den was  inclined  to  think  me  innocent  until  now. 
He's  been  mighty  decent.  I  suppose  he  thought  the 
bootleggers  killed  Gaskell,  and  was  working  quietly 
along  that  line ;  now  he  thinks  I  did  it.  Did  you  see 
him  look  at  me?  And  I'm  to  be  treated  like  any 
other  prisoner  awaiting  trial." 

We  left  him.  After  all,  what  comfort  had  we  to 
offer?  Doctor  Somers  called  after  the  retiring 
constable. 

**0h,  Wakefield!  Say,  Rufe,  got  a  shotgun  you'll 
lend  me?" 

The  big  man  nodded  slowly.  **W'y,  yes,  doc,"  he 
replied  amicably.  It  was  strange  how  Pinelands  had 
adopted  Somers;  already  he  was  intimate  with  half 
the  town  and  every  one  liked  him,  as  did  this  huge, 
timorous,  boastful  constable. 

*'W'y  shore,  I  gotta  gun — kind  of  a  one,  least- 
ways. Jist  let  me  lock  up,  and  I'll  git  'er,  'f  you- 
airil  carry  me  home." 

After  a  few  minutes  we  returned  to  Fort  House, 
Somers  holding  in  the  crook  of  one  long  arm  a 
dilapidated  double-barreled  shotgun. 

''Not  much  to  look  at,  as  Rufe  admitted,"  he  re- 
marked, displaying  the  weapon.  *'But  I  guess  she'll 
shoot,  and  Peter's  got  lots  of  shells." 


282  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

It  was  a  dubious-looking  affair,  whose  stock  had 
been  split  and  wound  with  tape  and  wire,  both  about 
the  grip  and  above  the  lock,  where  its  barrels  were 
hinged.  Somers  broke  it  and  peered  down  the 
barrels. 

"A  bit  rusty,"  he  announced  and  snapped  the 
barrels  into  place.  They  dropped  promptly  back. 
**And  the  catch  doesn't  work  properly.  I'll  have  to 
watch  out,  or  the  old  thing'll  break  when  I  fire  it, 
and  I'll  get  beaned.     But  it  will  do,  I  expect." 

We  went  on  into  the  house.  Aunt  Mary  was  no- 
where in  sight,  but  the  two  girls  fastened  upon  us  at 
once,  demanding  full  details  of  our  trip.  "We  didn't 
dare  say  much  about  it  before  Aunt  Mary,"  explained 
Dorothy.  ''She  acts  so  queer  when  we  talk  about 
the  murder,  and  Peter  is  so  aggravating.  He  just 
keeps  saying:  'Wait;  let  Somers  tell  it.  He  was 
the  hero!'     So  go  ahead,  doctor,  and  tell  us!" 

Somers  told  our  tale,  prompted  now  and  again 
while  the  two  young  women  listened,  spellbound. 

"Satterfield  showed  us  up,"  said  he,  "and  the 
bunch  was  just  about  to  eat  us  alive  when  the  revenue 
agents  stepped  in  and  arrested  all  hands.  We  slid 
down  the  mountain  in  the  dark,  and " 

"Hold  on!"  interrupted  Peter,  grinning.  "Let 
me.  No,  doc,  you've  got  to  be  a  hero,  that's  all.  The 
government  men  came  in  and  this  Roaring  Lafe,  this 
great  beefy  giant,  climbed  Somers  here  and  got  him 
by  the  throat.  'I'm  going  to  kill  you,  anyhow!'  he 
said.  And  nobody  dared  shoot,  they  thrashed  about 
so,  and  poor  feeble  old  doc  here  was  being  choked  to 
death." 


A  BORROWED  SHOTGUN  283 

He  stopped,  prolonging  the  suspense.  ''Ah-h-h!" 
sighed  Anne.     "Go  on!" 

"And  what  do  you  think  the  old  skeleton  did? 
Why,  just  poked  Roaring  Lafe  in  the  armpit  and 
paralyzed  that  arm;  and  then  he  up  with  that  pistol 
you  gave  him  and  tapped  him  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  just  as  gently,  and  Roaring  Lafe  drifted  off 
into  dreamland,  right  away,  quick.  Behold  the 
hee-ro!'' 

Somers  looked  annoyed.  "It  wasn't  anything,"  he 
said.     "It's  all  in  knowing  where  to  hit  'em." 

Anne  Christie's  big  violet  eyes  hung  upon  him 
almost  reverently.  This  lanky  doctor  not  only  did 
not  fear  Roaring  Lafe,  but  he  had  vanquished  him 
in  single  combat  by  force  of  arms!  He  might  have 
been  a  demigod,  so  w^orshiping  was  her  gaze. 

"Look!"  whispered  Dorothy.  "And  he  doesn't 
even  see  it.  Men  are  so  blind !  Don't  he  know  she's 
in  love  with  him?" 

If  he  did  he  made  no  sign.  He  went  calmly  on 
while  the  dull  flush  faded  from  his  cheeks,  telling 
of  the  trip  down  the  mountain,  of  our  interview^ 
with  Rutledge  at  the  jail. 

"But — but,"  said  Dorothy,  "you  s-sald  it  was  all 
right!  You  said  you'd  found  out  who  killed  Doctor 
Gaskell,  so  Lewis  could  come  home — and  you  didn't! 
You  haven't  done  a  thing!  Why,  we're  worse  off 
than  we  were  before.     Oh,  dear;  oh,  dear!" 

T  have  found  out,"  declared  Somers.  "Just  wait !" 
'Wait?"  she  asked.  "Wait?  That's  all  you  say 
— wait,  wait,  wait!  Oh,  it's  very  easy  for  you  to 
wait;  you're  not  in  p-prison,  and  he's  not  your  h-hus- 


284  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

band,  either!  I'm  going  to  send  for  a  lawyer — a 
detective — somebody!  Lewis  shan't  be  c-convicted 
before  my  eyes  Hke  this.  Wait,  you  keep  saying! 
How  much  1-longer  must  I  wait?" 

"Until  to-morrow." 

I  started,  looked  at  the  lanky,  imperturbable  phy- 
sician more  closely.  For  all  his  external  calm  I  saw 
now  that  his  strange,  gray-green  eyes  shone  with  ex- 
citement; that  some  inner  fever  twitched  at  his  lean 
hands  and  made  them  unsteady.  What  had  he  dis- 
covered that  was  hidden  from  me? 

"Oh-h!     Honest?"  asked  Dorothy  incredulously. 

He  nodded.  ''Honest!  Just  wait  until  morning; 
you'll  see,  unless  Lm  making  a  terrible  mistake." 

''But — but  who?"  we  all  demanded,  excitedly. 
"Who  did  it,  then?" 

Somers  grinned.  "Closer!"  he  ordered  and  whis- 
pered dramatically  into  our  eager  ears. 

"I  think  it  was — the  Poltergeist!'* 

And  he  would  say  no  more.  I  was  disgusted  at 
this  ill-timed  joking;  with  my  nephew  in  the  county 
jail  once  more,  awaiting  trial  for  his  life,  this  silly 
jest  seemed  in  bad  taste,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  But 
there  matters  rested  for  the  remainder  of  a  most 
unpleasant  day. 

Aunt  Mary  appeared  at  supper,  looking  very  hag- 
gard, but  quite  calm.  She  smiled  wanly  and  talkecf 
in  a  weak  voice  about  spiritism.  She  quite  ignored 
this  morning's  outburst;  and  so  did  the  rest  of  us. 

But  I  was  still  more  disi^usted  with  Somers  when 
he  abandoned  his  pose  of  silly  credulity  and  came  out 
flatly  to  proclaim  an  utter  disbelief  in  all  spiritistic 


A  BORROWED  SHOTGUN  28; 


D 


manifestations.  What  ailed  the  fellow?  A  few 
hours  ago  he  had  not  only  lapped  up  Aunt  Mary's 
farrago,  but  had  declared  with  every  appearance  of 
sincerity  that  Gaskell  had  been  murdered  by  a  ghost; 
now  he  announced,  with  a  supercilious  sneer,  that 
we  had  merely  imagined  the  Poltergeist;  that  it  was 
absurd  to  suppose  that  any  spirit  could  have  dragged 
Rosina's  bedclothes  off  her,  or  destroyed  Dorothy's 
wedding  dress. 

We  were  all  angry,  I  think,  even  Peter. 

*'I  suppose  I  imagined  myself  on  the  floor  when 
the  thing  dragged  my  chair  from  under  me,"  he  said. 

Somers  smiled  maddeningly.  "You  went  to  sleep 
and  fell  off." 

"And  how  about  my  blankets?"  I  asked.  "You 
saw  yourself  they  were  gone  from  my  bed." 

"You  walked  in  your  sleep,  no  doubt,  and  carried 
'em  away." 

"Do  you  think  I'd  sp-spoil  my  own  wedding  dress, 
even  if  I  was  asleep?"  asked  Dorothy  indignantly. 
"Aud  I  suppose  Rosina  stuck  pins  into  herself,  too?" 

"No  doubt."  Somers  rose,  still  grinning. 
"Ghosts!"  said  he.  "Rot!  There  are  no  ghosts. 
You  folks  dreamed  or  imagined  most  of  this  stuff, 
and  there's  probably  a  very  simple  explanation  for 
the  rest.  Just  superstition,  that's  all.  You've  exag- 
gerated and  dwelt  upon  these  things  until  you're  all 
convinced  a  ghost  did  'em,  and  you  use  all  sorts  of 
trifles  to  bolster  up  your  belief." 

There  was  just  enough  truth  in  the  charge  to  irri- 
tate us  all.     Only  Aunt  Mary  failed  to  protest,  but 


286  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

the  strangely  vindictive  look  which  she  bent  upon 
Somers  made  me  catch  my  breath. 

'T  shan't  argue  about  it,"  she  said  coldly.  '*I 
only  hope,  Doctor  Somers,  that  you  may  never  suffer 
for  your  disbelief.  Sometimes  the  spirits  resent 
disbelief,  doctor,  and  punish  it!" 

I  shivered,  there  was  such  prophetic  menace  in  her 
tones,  but  Somers  only  smiled  again. 

"I'm  going  to  bed  early,"  he  declared.  *T  left  that 
shotgun  in  the  cupboard  on  the  back  porch.  Don't 
touch  it,  you  girls;  it's  loaded.  I'm  about  used  up; 
I'm  going  to  sleep  late  if  I  can.  But  after  breakfast 
Peter  and  I  will  go  a-hunting  for  bobwhites!" 

"Don't!"  begged  Dorothy  again.  "If  you  do,  I'm 
just  sure  somebody  will  be  killed.  It's  bad  luck  to 
bunt  those  quail;  I  know  it!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    poltergeist's    LAST  VISIT 

I  WENT  to  bed  earl}-,  as  we  all  did.  That  was 
a  very  tired  household.  Somers  disappeared 
directly  after  supper,  and  Aunt  Mary  followed  half 
an  hour  later. 

Dorothy  and  Anne  Christie,  after  the  old  lady  had 
been  safely  tucked  in,  returned  to  the  living  room 
and  sat  with  Peter  and  me  for  a  while,  trying  dis- 
mally to  make  talk.  But,  after  two  disturbed  nights, 
they  were  both  dead  for  sleep.  Dorothy  nodded  over 
her  embroidery,  and  Miss  Christie  wore  again  that 
expression  of  bovine  somnolence,  which  Somers' 
medicine,  or  the  events  of  this  last  month,  had  driven 
away.     And  Peter  and  I  were  little  better. 

At  last  Miss  Christie  rose.  'Tt's  no  use,'*  she 
declared.  "Vm  going  to  bed.  I — I  feel  as  sleepy  and 
as  stupid  as  I  ever  did  before  I  began  taking  Doctor 
Somers*  tablets.  If  the  Poltergeist  should  come  back 
to-night,  I'd  never  know  it — not  unless  he  dragged 
me  out  of  bed.  And  then  I'd  just  curl  up  on  the 
floor,  I  think.     I'm  so  sleepy!" 

It  was  not  later  than  nine  o'clock,  but  we  were  all 
exhausted,  and  we  allwent  to  bed.  I  abandoned  my 
half-formed  design  of  sitting  up  to  watch  for  the 
Poltergeist.    Let  him  come!    I  was  too  tired  to  care. 

Peter,  yawning  up  the  stairs  beside  me,  expressed 
the  same  idea.  *T  thought  I'd  sit  up,"  he  said,  ''and 
watch  for  that  darn  ghost,  just  to  prove  Somers  was 
wrong,  but  I'm  too  sleepy." 


288  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Somers'  door  was  closed,  and  no  sound  came  from 
behind  it.  Evidently  he,  too,  had  succumbed  to  the 
need  of  rest. 

I  bade  Dorothy  and  Peter  a  sleepy  good  night,  and 
in  five  minutes  I  was  undressed  and  in  bed,  fathoms 
deep  in  dreamless  slumber. 

A  sudden  wild  shriek  awakened  me,  such  a  scream 
as  would  drag  the  soundest  sleeper  from  his  bed  and 
bring  the  cold  sweat  out  upon  his  forehead,  a  scream 
of  mortal  fear.     It  was  Dorothy's  voice! 

Despite  my  rheumatism,  I  was  out  of  bed  and  at 
her  door  in  two  leaps.     My  heart  was  in  my  throat. 

''Dorothy !"  I  said.    ^'Dorothy!    What  is  it,  child?" 

She  clutched  me,  trembling.  '*0h,"  she  said,  shak- 
ing pitifully.     "Oh,  dear!    I— I  can't " 

"What  is  it?"  Peter  was  beside  me,  shaking  his 
sister's  arm.  "What's  happened?  Are  you  all 
right?" 

"I — there's  a  s-snake  in  my  bed!" 

Came  a  soft  pad  of  unshod  feet,  the  swish  of  loose 
garments,  and  Somers  was  beside  us.  Even  in  my 
excitement  I  noticed  and  wondered  at  it — that  he 
came,  not  from  his  own  room,  but  up  the  stairs. 

"What?"  he  asked,  with  one  flashing  look  at  us. 
"Unk,  Pete" — he  clutched  our  shoulders  cruelly — 
"tell  me,  is  there  a  back  stairway  to  this  joint?" 

We  nodded  dumbly,  amazed  at  his  query. 

"Oh,  scissors!"  He  wheeled  and  disappeared  as 
abruptly  as  he  had  come,  I  heard  his  bare  feet 
pounding  down  the  stairs. 

Peter  switched  on  the  lights,  and  all  three  of  us 
started  back,  laughing  confusedly. 


THE  POLTERGEIST'S  LAST  VISIT        289 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  said  Dorothy,  drawing  her  bath- 
robe about  her. 

Peter  looked  at  my  pajamas  and  laughed  con- 
sumedly.  "Those  wide  red  stripes  are  frightfully 
becoming,  unkl" 

I  snorted.  They  were  good  linen  pajamas,  and  I 
had  bought  them  very  cheap  because  of  those  very 
stripes.     I  am  past  the  days  of  personal  vanity. 

"You're  no  beauty  yourself  in  those  purple  things," 
I  replied  resentfully. 

Then  we  separated,  but  returned  presently, 
wrapped  in  dressing  gowns,  to  investigate  Dorothy's 
bed. 

Somers  came  back  up  the  stairs.  He,  too,  was  in 
a  bathrobe  and  slippers,  and  he  held  one  hand  tightly 
shut. 

"Missed  it,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  know  about  those 
back  stairs.    What  happened  here?" 

"A  s-snake  in  my  bed!"  said  the  girl,  shivering. 

"Humph!"  He  threw  back  its  covers.  "Snake? 
Ha!     No  wonder." 

He  clutched  at  the  sheet.  It  was  damp,  and  in  its 
center,  right  where  poor  Dorothy's  back  must  have 
been,  was  a  long  sliver  of  ice. 

"Here's  your  snake,"  Somers  declared. 

"I  don't  care!"  replied  Dorothy.  "It  was  just  like 
a  snake,  long  and  cold  and  clammy.     Br-r-r!" 

He  picked  up  the  piece  of  ice  and  carried  it  to  the 
bathroom.  "Well,  your  snake's  gone.  Miss  any- 
thing from  the  room?" 

"Nun-no,"  she  repeated  wonderingly.  Then  she 
went  to  the  dresser  and  looked  about  a  moment.     "I 


290         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

do,  too!     My  wedding  ring  and  my  diamond!     Oh, 
dear,  my  rings  are  gone!" 

"Here,"  said  Somers,  opening  his  hand.  His 
strange  eyes  danced  brightly.  Triumph  showed  in 
every  Hne  of  his  face.     In  his  palm  lay  both  rings. 

"Oh,  you  dear  man!  Where  were  they?  And 
now  you  believe  in  the  Poltergeist,  don't  you?" 

"I  found  them  in — in  the  hall.  And  as  for  the 
ghost — why,  we  will  get  Aunt  Mary  to  explain  that 
later.     Can  you  go  back  to  sleep  now?" 

The  girl  nodded  doubtfully.  *T — I  think  so,  if  all 
of  you  will  leave  your  doors  wide  open?" 

"Fm  going  to  sit  up,"  said  Somers,  and  Dorothy, 
somewhat  reassured,  turned  to  her  bed  as  we  went 
out. 

The  physician  entered  his  own  room.  We  heard 
him  whistle  shrilly.  "Come  here,  you  chaps!"  he 
called  softly. 

Peter  and  I  went  in.  And  there,  driven  deep 
through  coverlet  and  sheets,  right  into  the  mattress, 
was  a  carving  knife! 

"Humph!"  said  Somers.  "Looks  like  the  Polter- 
geist wasn't  entirely  harmless,  don't  it?  In  the  dark 
he  must  have  thought  I  was  in  bed." 

Not  without  difficulty  he  pulled  out  the  seven-inch 
blade.  It  would  have  pierced  his  body,  had  he  been 
sleeping  there! 

'Where  were  you?"  I  whispered. 
'Me?    On  the  stairs,  watching  for  the  Poltergeist. 
Those  back  stairs  fooled  me."    And  he  would  say  no 
more,  except,  "I  found  those  rings  just  outside  Aunt 
Mary's  door." 


THE  POLTERGEIST'S  LAST  VISIT        291 


ct^ 


Maybe  the  ghost  visited  her,  too!"  I  cried, 
alarmed.  "Run  down  and  see,  Peter.  We  forgot 
the  poor  old  lady.'' 

"Humph!"  said  Somers.  "She's  good  friends  with 
the  ghost,  but  go  anyhow,  Peter." 

Peter  went.  "Sound  asleep,  she  says,"  he  reported. 
"Didn't  hear  anything.  I  went  right  in;  Miss 
Christie  w^as  dead  to  the  world;  didn't  hear  me 
knock." 

"Go  to  bed,"  directed  Somers.  "No,  nothing  more 
to-night.  Things  are  going  very  nicely.  In  the 
morning  this  ought  to  be  cleared  up." 

So  we  went  back  to  bed,  despairing  of  further  in- 
formation, but  I  could  not  sleep. 

I  lay  there  w^ide-eyed  through  the  long,  black 
hours,  wondering — wondering.  Who — what  was  this 
specter,  this  Poltergeist?  If  Somers  had  been  in  his 
bed  to-night,  it  would  have  killed  him;  had  it  killed 
Gaskell,  also?  And  what  did  Aunt  Mary  know  of 
the  grisly  thing?  Aunt  Mary  would  explain,  Somers 
had  said. 

The  old  lady's  bed  faced  the  wdndow,  I  remem- 
bered, and  that  window  looked  out  upon  the  tangle 
of  scrub  oaks,  where  Gaskell  had  met  his  death.  It 
must  have  been  light,  even  at  four  o'clock.  Had 
Aunt  Mary  been  awake  that  morning?  And  if  so, 
what  had  she  seen  ?  And  why  had  she  kept  it  secret  ? 
There  were  huge  cellars  under  the  old  house,  I  knew% 
cellars  long  unexplored. 

Had  Gaskell's  murderer  come  to  the  wdndow? 
What  whispered  colloquy  had  been  held,  there  in  the 
gray  dawn,  between  the  paralytic  and  this  stranger, 


292  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

this  grisly  ghost  of  the  murderous  hands?  Had  the 
old  lady  recognized  him,  shielded  him,  told  him  where 
to  hide,  perhaps,  in  those  long  closed  cellars,  where 
she  might  have  played  as  a  child?  Fort  House  w^as 
an  old  home  of  the  McGregors ;  in  the  days  of  Doro- 
thy's grandfather,  Aunt  Mary  might  well  have  visited 
it,  explored  its  vast  underground  caverns,  where 
wines  had  once  been  stored. 

And  what — who — was  this  murderer,  then,  whom 
she  had  shielded,  who  had  wandered  about  Fort 
House  of  nights,  screaming  horridly,  eating  from 
the  pantry,  breaking  dishes,  playing  ghostly  tricks, 
stabbing,  as  he  had  meant  to,  an  innocent  guest? 
I  went  cold  at  the  picture  in  my  imagination.  Some 
lunatic,  some  secret,  stealthy  madman,  who  might 
yet  slaughter  us  all! 

I  sat  up  in  bed,  straining  my  ears,  glad  of  the 
pistol  I  had  rummaged  out  at  home,  and  which  still 
lay  in  my  bag.  I  got  it  out,  resolved  to  keep  vigil. 
If  this  Poltergeist,  this  madman,  came  back,  I  would 
protect  Dorothy  at  least.  And  in  the  morning  we 
would  hunt,  not  harmless  quail  in  the  back  yard,  but 
a  w^anton  murderer  through  the  cellars. 

The  hours  wore  on,  and  dawn  came  slowly.  As 
the  east  turned  gray,  the  quail  piped  up  their  matu- 
tinal song. 

''Bohzvhite!  Bohwhite!"  they  whistled;  louder, 
closer,  than  ever  before. 

So  shrill  was  their  continual  outcry,  and  so  close 
beneath  me,  that  at  last  I  tiptoed  to  the  window. 
Perhaps  I  might  see  them,  locate  their  nests,  against 


THE  POLTERGEIST'S  LAST  VISIT        293 

our  later  hunting.  I  swung  back  the  screen  and  put 
out  my  head,  peering  almost  straight  down. 

''Bohzi'hite !  Bobwhite!  Bohzv kite!''  they  piped 
at  three-second  intervals,  regular  as  a  clock  and  sur- 
prisingly loud  and  close. 

And  then  I  gasped  and  almost  fell  out  of  the 
window.  These  were  no  birds !  The  cry  of  quail 
was  counterfeited  so  exactly  that  I  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve my  eyes;  instead  of  a  little  brown  bird,  Floyd 
Somers  crouched  beneath  Aunt  Mary's  window, 
diagonally  below  my  own,  his  long,  lean  legs  gro- 
tesquely folded  under  him,  his  thin  lips  pursed.  From 
his  lips,  at  regular,  three-second  intervals,  came  the 
shrill  cry  of  the  bobwhite  quail,  exactly  imitated ! 

This  childish  buffoonery  angered  me  sorely.  What 
ailed  the  man?  Had  he  no  appreciation  of  what 
hung  over  us?  In  the  midst  of  the  dark  shadow 
which  covered  Fort  House,  before  the  very  eyes,  per- 
haps, of  a  lurking,  murderous  madman,  he  could  find 
nothing  better  to  do  than  play  this  puerile  practical 
joke  upon  a  helpless  old  woman. 

**What  are  you  doing,  man?  Stop  it!"  I  shouted 
wrathfully. 

He  looked  up,  in  no  way  abashed,  and  gestured 
vigorously  for  silence.  Despite  my  rage,  his  desper- 
ate earnestness,  his  frantic  signs  for  secrecy,  closed 
my  lips.  Wondering  mightily,  I  huddled  into  a  few 
things  and  hurried  downstairs  and  around  the  house. 

Somers  still  crouched  beneath  the  east  window, 
whistling  with  all  his  might:  ''Bohzuhite!  Bohwhite!" 
I  blundered  through  the  honeysuckle  vines  toward 
him. 


294  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"Shut  up,  man!"  he  said  to  me  and  clutched  my 
shoulder  to  draw  me  down  beside  him.  ''Want  to 
spoil  everything?"  he  demanded,  his  lips  close  to  my 
ear.     "She'll  hear  you.     Shut  up,  I  say,  and  watch!" 

I  subsided,  born  down,  if  not  convinced,  by  his 
angry  sincerity.  Whatever  his  purpose,  this  was  no 
silly  joke;  I  could  see  that  much.  There  was  some 
deep-laid,  important  plan  beneath  this  foolery. 

''Bobzi''hiter  he  whistled.     ''BohzMter 

A  faint  movement  came  from  within  the  open 
window,  and  a  weak,  querulously  patient  voice  said : 
"Miss  Christie'     Nurse!" 

Somers  held  his  breath;  then,  remembering, 
whistled  the  quail's  call  louder  than  before.  "If 
she'll  only  stay  asleep,  or  pretend  to  be  asleep,  as  I 
told  her!"  he  exclaimed.     "Bohwhite!'' 

Asleep  or  not,  the  nurse  made  no  answer.  Aunt 
Mary  called  again  tentatively,  then  querulously.  Still 
the  nurse  made  no  reply. 

"Ah-h !"  sighed  Somers.  Gripping  my  arm  fiercely, 
he  whistled  louder  yet:  ''Bohzvhite!     Bohzvhite!'' 

I  could  not  believe  my  ears.  Within,  the  nurse's 
quiet  breathing  ran  on  unchanged,  almost  a  snore. 
Surely  she  was  asleep!  Yet  I  heard  footsteps,  the 
unmistakable  padding  of  bare  feet  across  the  floor ! 
What — who — could  it  be?     The  murderer? 

"I'll  kill  those  miserable  birds  myself!'' 

That  was  Mary  McGregor's  voice!  And  she 
seemed  to  be  alone.  What  could  she  be  doing? 
The  patter  of  bare  feet,  scarcely  audible,  faded  away. 
I  heard  a  door  open  and  close  stealthily. 

Somers  erected  himself,  his  long  legs  straightening 


THE  POLTERGEIST'S  LAST  VISIT        295 

telescopically.  He  peered  in  the  window.  "Look!" 
he  exclaimed. 

On  my  very  tiptoes,  straining  higher,  craning  my 
neck,  I  looked.  Aunt  Mary's  bed  was  empty!  She 
was  nowhere  in  sight!  And  I  saw  the  edge  of  Anne 
Christie's  bed  in  the  inner  room,  and  a  long  braid 
of  blond  hair  hung  over  it  toward  the  floor. 

"Down!"  ordered  Somers.     "Quick!" 

He  dragged  me  back  just  in  time.  I  caught  one 
furtive  glimpse  of  Mary  McGregor,  indubitably  erect, 
walking,  upon  her  two  paralyzed  legs,  like  any  other 
person.  And  her  face,  not  sweet  or  patient  now,  was 
distorted  with  maniacal  rage.  She  carried  a  shot- 
gun! 

I  ducked  below  the  window  ledge,  stunned  with 
amazement.  Right  over  my  head  I  heard  the  grating 
of  a  gun  barrel  against  the  window  screen,  a  mut- 
tered exclamation,  the  tremendous  zvhain  of  black 
powder!  A  burning  gun  w^ad  scorched  my  hand; 
bird  shot  pattered  in  the  leaves  behind  us;  Somers 
dragged  me  away. 

"Quick!"  he  said.  "You  saw%  you  heard?  Run, 
before  she  has  time  to  hide  it!" 

I  raced  round  the  house  beside  him.  "What — 
w^hat  does  it  mean?"  I  asked.  "Why,  she's  para- 
lyzed!    Is  she  crazy,  or  am  I?" 

*'Mean?  It  means  that  the  Poltergeist  has  made 
its  last  appearance,"  answered  Somers.     "Now!" 

We  were  in  the  house,  through  the  long,  crooked 
hall,  at  Aunt  Mary's  closed  door.  Without  waiting 
to  knock,  he  burst  in. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE    FINAL    EXPLANATION 

AUNT  MARY  McGregor  lay  quietly  in  her 
bed,  propped  with  pillows.  Her  drawn  face 
wore  a  look  of  sweet  resignation;  she  was  gazing 
absently  out  of  the  open  window.  The  place  was  so 
still,  so  peaceful;  the  old  lady's  expression  was  so 
calm;  the  illusion  of  a  quiet  sick  room  was  so  com- 
plete that  I  almost  doubted  what  my  eyes  and  ears 
had  just  told  me. 

Only  the  ragged  hole  in  the  window  screen, 
through  which  that  charge  of  bird  shot  had  just 
poured,  and  the  drifting,  pungent  cloud  of  black 
powder  smoke,  which  still  filled  the  air,  convinced  me 
that  I  had  not  dreamed.  The  shotgun  was  nowhere 
in  sight. 

As  we  burst  in,  Anne  Christie  was  just  emerging 
from  her  inner  room,  struggling  into  a  bathrobe,  so 
quickly  had  we  come.  Aunt  Mary  turned  at  our 
entry,  her  thin  eyebrows  raised,  as  for  a  patient  re- 
buke at  this  disturbance.  Then  she  saw  Somers. 
She  stared  at  him  dumbly  for  an  instant,  with  bulg- 
ing eyes  and  horrified,  unbelieving  face.  '^Yoii!'* 
she  exclaimed.     "You!" 

Somers  nodded  brusquely.  "Quite  so!  You  see, 
I  wasn't  in  bed  when  you  came  in  last  night." 

The  old  lady  wet  her  colorless  lips.  *T — I  d-don't 
understand,"  she  whispered.  "What — what  does 
this — this  impudent  intrusion  mean?" 


THE  FINAL  EXPLANATION  297 

It  was  a  weak  attempt  at  bluster.  The  physician 
ignored  it.  'Tt's  no  use,  Aunt  Mary/'  he  rephed  al- 
most kindly.  His  eyes  pitied  her.  "You  can't  get 
away  with  it  this  time.  I  saw  you  myself,  and 
Uhlman,  here,  saw  you,  too.  We  saw  you  get  out 
of  bed  and  go  after  that  gun;  we  saw  you  shoot  out 
of  the  window  at  the  quail." 

''Gun?"  asked  Aunt  Mary,  stubbornly  uncompre- 
hending. "What  gun?  I  was  asleep.  There's  no 
gun  here." 

By  this  time  Peter  was  pounding  in,  Dorothy  at 
his  heels.     "What  now?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  asked  the  girl.  "Has  anybody 
been  killed  this  time?" 

With  one  backward-flung  hand,  Somers  gestured 
for  silence.  His  gray-green  eyes  were  steady  upon 
the  old  lady. 

"No  use,"  he  repeated  inexorably.  "The  gun's 
right  in  this  room  somewhere;  you  didn't  have  time 
to  take  it  out  again.  It's  hidden  here;  in  your  bed, 
perhaps.     Shall  I  find  it,  or  will  you?" 

Aunt  Mary's  black  eyes  fell  before  his  steady  gaze. 
"Spare  me  that,  at  least!"  she  said  petulantly.  "You 
may  burst  in  on  me  as  you  did;  I  can't  prevent  that, 
helpless  as  I  am,  and  my  own  flesh  and  blood" — 
with  a  vicious  look  at  poor  Peter — "won't  even  try 
to  save  me  from  such  insolence!  But  you  needn't  go 
further;  you  needn't  search  my  bed!" 

Leaning  forward  she  reached  a  slim,  veined  hand 
beneath  the  covers  to  bring  out  Rufus  Wakefield's 
battered  shotgun,  still  smoking  faintly.  A  fresh  reek 
of  burned  powder  filled  the  room. 


298         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

We  all  gasped,  staring  at  her  with  shocked  in- 
comprehension. Even  now  the  thing  seemed  incredi- 
ble! 

"Aunt — Ma-ry!"  whispered  Dorothy.  *'Hovv — 
what  have  you  done?" 

The  old  lady  began  to  weep  helplessly.  "Nun- 
nothing!"  she  wailed.  "Dorothy — Peter — will  you 
stand  there  and  see  your  poor,  paralyzed  aunt  in- 
sulted like  this?  Send  this  insolent  person  out; 
make  him  let  me  alone!" 

Somers  shook  his  head.  His  dark  face  was  very 
pitiful;  I  think  he  felt  for  this  poor  old  wretch  even 
more  than  did  the  rest  of  us. 

"Come,"  he  urged.  "Don't  make  this  any  harder. 
Let's  get  it  over  with!  You  were  the  Poltergeist, 
weren't  you?" 

Aunt  Mary  only  sobbed. 

"Weren't  you  ?" 

Dropping  her  hands,  she  disclosed  a  haggard,  tear- 
streaked  face,  as  she  turned  upon  us,  not  without 
dignity.  "If  you  must  have  it — yes!"  she  said. 
"Yes!  I  was  the  Poltergeist.  It  was  easy,  so  easy! 
You  were  so  stupid,  all  of  you;  you  never  even 
guessed.  And  this  stupid,  sleepy,  worthless  nurse" 
— with  a  bitter  glance  at  poor  Anne — "lay  there  and 
snored  and  never  knew!  I  slipped  in  and  out — I 
broke  dishes — I  ate  my  fill  from  the  pantry.  None 
of  you  cared  if  I  was  hungry;  not  one  of  you  would 
offer  me  a  bite  to  eat!     I  helped  myself." 

"\\'hy.  Aunt  Mary!"  said  Dorothy.  "You  know 
we  just  begged  you  and  coaxed  you,  and  you  always 


THE  FINAL  EXPLANATION  299 

said  your  appetite  was  so  delicate!     All  the  pies  and 
cakes  and  jam  and  candy — did  you  eat  them,  too?" 

The  old  lady  swept  on,  unheeding.  "No  one  in 
this  house  ever  paid  me  the  attention  I  deserved. 
That  was  my  revenge ;  I  served  you  out  for  neglecting 
me!  Where's  your  wedding  finery  now,  my  girl? 
Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

She  gave  a  wild,  screeching  laugh;  it  made  me 
shudder.  Surely  this  was  a  maniac  who  confronted 
us,  hunched  there  on  the  bed,  her  shaking  hands  play- 
ing about  the  stock  of  a  shotgun ! 

*T  made  a  fine  ghost!"  she  exulted.  "It  was  sport 
— such  sport!" 

Doctor  Somers  groaned  aloud.  "Poor  thing,  oh, 
poor  thing!"  I  heard  him  whisper.  And  then  aloud 
he  asked:  "And  you  shot  Doctor  Gaskell,  didn't 
you  ?" 

Her  head  went  up  and  back  in  that  old,  proud 
gesture.  "He — he  insulted  me — insulted  a  poor, 
helpless  paralytic!  He  laughed,  and  I  told  you.  I 
just  begged  of  you  to  drive  those  miserable  quail 
away.  I  told  you  they  would  set  me  crazy;  and 
Peter  paid  no  attention.  Nobody  paid  any  attention 
at  all.  Doctor  Parker  promised  to  shoot  them,  but 
I  knew  he  didn't  mean  it.  Why,  that  morning  they 
w^histled  and  whistled  for  hours!  I  waited  and 
waited;  nobody  came,  nobody  stirred,  nobody  cared 
if  they  drove  me  mad!  At  last  I  got  up,  helpless 
as  I  was  and  paralyzed." 

She  paused  abruptly,  seeming  for  the  first  time 
to  be  conscious  of  the  incongruity  of  a  paralytic 
getting  up  and  walking  about. 


300  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

*'I — sometimes  my  affliction  leaves  me  for  a  few 
minutes/'  she  faltered.  'T  got  up  and  went  out — 
a  poor,  helpless  old  woman — to  do  what  these  hulk- 
ing men  should  have  done  for  me,  if  they'd  been 
men  at  all!  Peter's  gun  stood  on  the  back  porch;  I 
loaded  it.  Oh,  when  I  was  a  girl,  I  used  to  be  a 
good  shot !    That  was  before  I  was  paralyzed. 

"I  went  out  back,  into  the  scrub  oaks.  It  was  day- 
light, though  the  sun  wasn't  up.  And  there  I  met 
Doctor  Gaskell.  He — he  insulted  me;  he  laughed! 
He  asked  me  if  I'd  recovered  from  my  paralysis,  and 
he  laughed!  He — he  called  me  an  old  f-faker!  The 
cad!  And  I  answered  him  as  a  high-spirited  gentle- 
woman should  answer  such  an  insult!" 

She  paused,  looking  down  at  the  shotgun  in  her 
lap.  All  this  while  she  had  been  handling  it  un- 
consciously, as  it  seemed;  breaking  its  breech,  ex- 
tracting the  empty  shell,  playing  with  the  undis- 
charged cartridge.  As  she  sat  there,  all  hunched  in 
the  bed,  her  thin  face  distorted  with  unlovely  pas- 
sions, she  looked  like  a  particularly  unpleasant  old 
witch.  Her  cheeks  were  all  sunken;  without  her 
false  teeth  her  mouth  seemed  to  have  fallen  in,  so 
that  high-bridge  nose  and  pointed  chin  almost  touched 
each  other. 

Then  she  raised  her  head  to  cast  an  evil  glance  at 
Doctor  Somers.  "1  hurried  back,"  she  went  on 
monotonously.  "I  cleaned  the  gun — oh,  I  knew  how. 
well  enough — and  put  it  where  I'd  found  it;  then 
came  to  my  room.  Everybody  was  asleep,  even  this 
stupid  nurse.  She  hadn't  heard  anything;  she  never 
heard  anything.     Blockhead !     I  was  safe,  quite  safe. 


THE  FINAL  EXPLANATION  301 

Nobody  could  §uspect.  It  was  the  birds — devils, 
rather.  They  knew;  they'd  seen  it  all!  And  they 
perched  outside  my  windows  every  morning  before 
daybreak  and  whistled,  whistled,  whistled;  they 
weren't  birds.  They  were  devils,  I  tell  you — devils, 
accusing  me!  They  have  driven  me  mad  at  last! 
And  then  you  had  to  mix  in,  you,  Somers!  Ah-h-h, 
how  I  hate  you!  Sneaking  and  watching  and  spy- 
ing on  me!  If  only  I  could  have  killed  you  in  the 
night,  as  I  meant  to!  I'd  have  been  safe  then.  But, 
no,  you  had  to  keep  it  up,  you  and  those  birds.  You 
plotted  this  against  me,  you  and  the  birds  together. 
They  helped  you,  I  know!  I  heard  them  just  now, 
outside  my  window,  mocking  me,  accusing  me,  call- 
ing you  to  come  and  betray  me.  But  you  shan't 
profit   by   it!'* 

As  rage  overpowered  her,  she  ceased  to  make  any 
pretense  of  palsy,  but  slid  her  lean  shanks  out  of 
the  bed  and  stood  erect,  facing  her  unmasker,  her 
face  distorted  with  hate.  And  now,  before  we 
could  move,  before  we  could  cry  out,  she  snapped 
the  breech  of  the  gun  she  still  held,  jerked  it  to  her 
shoulder,  and  pulled  the  trigger. 

I  heard  the  click  of  the  hammer  upon  an  empty 
shell,  and  still  we  stood  motionless,  all  but  Anne 
Christie.  With  one  smothered  scream  she  leaped 
wildly  forward,  threw  herself  upon  Floyd  Somers' 
breast,  shielding  his  body  with  her  own.  She  moved 
with  the  speed  of  desperate  love.  Before  we  others 
could  intervene,  while  my  arm  was  still  outstretched, 
and  Peter  was  leaning  forward,  the  second  trigger 
moved.     I  saw  the  hammer  fall;  the  bass  roar  of  the 


302  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

explosion,  doubly  loud  in  that  confined  space,  rang 
deafeningly  in  our  ears. 

It  all  happened  so  swiftly  that  I  must  set  down, 
one  after  another,  a  dozen  things  which  happened 
all  at  once. 

Even  as  the  old  lady  fired  at  Somers,  protected 
by  Anne  Christie's  body,  the  gun  seemed  to  leap  in 
her  hands,  to  break  apart.  A  blinding  cloud  of  blue 
smoke  spurted  out  from  its  breach,  hiding  Aunt  Mary 
from  us  for  an  instant.  The  gun  barrels,  instead  of 
pointing  at  her  victim,  swung  downward  at  a  sharp 
angle ;  birdshot  rolled  down  them  and  pattered  on  the 
floor.  With  them  came  a  burning  gun  wad,  upon 
which  Peter  trod  mechanically.  And  Aunt  Mary, 
the  broken  gun  still  clutched  in  her  blackened  hands, 
dropped  back  across  the  bed  and  lay  very  still,  in  a 
lessening  cloud  of  smoke. 

Doctor  Somers  freed  himself  gently  from  the 
nurse's  swooning  grip,  set  her  in  a  chair,  and  stepped 
forward.  He  leaned  over  the  old  lady  and  touched 
her  left  temple  with  a  steady  hand.  Her  face  was 
quite  unmarred  and  very  peaceful;  only  upon  the  left 
temple  w^as  a  little  blue  bruise.  Beside  her  head  lay 
an  empty  shell. 

''She's  quite  dead,"  said  the  doctor  softly,  and  he 
drew  a  corner  of  the  sheet  over  that  quiet  face. 

''She  didn't  quite  lock  the  breech,"  he  went  on, 
picking  up  the  battered  shotgun.  "I  told  you  last 
night,  unk,  it  didn't  work  properly.  When  she  closed 
the  breech,  this  catch  failed  to  take  hold,  and  the  kick 
broke  it  open  again,  so  the  shell  drove  backward  out 
of  the  breech  and  struck  her  in  the  temple." 


THE  FINAL  EXPLANATION  303 

He  straightened,  sighing  deeply.  "I  want  you-all 
to  listen/'  he  told  us  impressively,  "and  remember 
this,  whenever  you  think  about  Miss  McGregor:  she 
wasn't  to  blame!  She  wasn't  responsible  for  her 
acts;  she  was  insane.  Think  of  her  as  kindly  as  you 
can,  all  of  you.  Poor  soul!  She's  dead  now;  she's 
paid  for  everything.  Remember,  don't  blame  her,  any 
of  you — ever!     She  wasn't  responsible." 

Spoken  at  that  time  and  place,  the  words  struck 
deep,  as  he  knew  they  would,  I  suppose.  And  I  think 
that  our  memories  of  the  poor  woman  have  all  been 
kindlier  for  them.  It  was  a  gentle,  knightly  speech 
from  the  man  whom  she  had  tried  to  murder  twice 
in  four  hours. 

"But — but  I  don't  understand  yet,''  put  in  Dorothy. 
Indeed  all  of  us  shared  her  bewilderment,  I  think. 
"Aunt  Mary  did  it — she  shot  Doctor  Gaskell,  I  sup- 
pose, since  she  admitted  it.  But  how,  why,  and  how 
did  you  find  out?" 

"Come  out  into  the  living  room  and  I'll  explain," 
he  said.     "It's  all  clear  enough  now." 

We  trooped  out  after  him;  a  motley  crowd  we 
must  have  made,  too.  Somers  was  fully  dressed; 
at  least  he  wore  tennis  shoes,  an  old  pair  of  flannel 
trousers,  and  Peter's  jersey,  which  made  his  lean 
torso  more  unbelievably  skinny  than  ever.  But  the 
rest  of  us  were  in  advanced  negligee.  I  wore 
trousers;  Peter  had  only  a  bathrobe  over  his  pa- 
jamas; both  the  girls  were  in  kimonos,  with  hair  in 
braids  down  their  backs.  We  were  a  ludicrous  sight, 
no  doubt,  but  none  of  us  had  the  heart  to  laugh. 

"As  soon  as  I  heard  about  the  Poltergeist,"  Somers 


304  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

began,  *T  suspected  Aunt  Mary.  Such  tricks  always 
indicate  that  there's  an  hysterical  person  somewhere 
about.  This  'Poltergeist*  stuff  and  the  witchcraft, 
that  dozens  of  harmless  old  women  were  burned  alive 
for,  not  so  many  centuries  ago — they're  all  the  work 
of  hystericals.  Such  cases  delight  in  mystifying 
people,  scaring  them,  playing  queer,  malicious  tricks 
on  them,  and  all  that.  It's  been  a  well-recognized 
sign  of  hysteria  for  fifty  years.  So  as  soon  as  I 
heard  of  the  Poltergeist,  I  began  to  look  for  an  hys- 
terical, and  that  led  straight  to  Atmt  Mary;  she  had 
all  the  earmarks. 

*T  concluded  right  away  that  her  paralysis  was 
hysterical,  too,  or  she  couldn't  get  about  to  play 
ghost.  Palsies  are  common  enough  in  hysteria,  you 
know.  I  don't  mean  that  she  faked  it  consciously; 
she  w^as  really  paralyzed.  That  is,  she  couldn't  move 
her  legs  because  she  believed  she  couldn't.  She  didn't 
pretend.  At  night  she'd  get  out  of  bed  in  a  state 
of  hysterical  somnambulism  and  go  about  playing 
ghost;  but,  when  she  got  back  to  bed,  she'd  forget 
all  about  that.  When  she  was  fully  awake  she  was 
paralyzed;  she  couldn't  move,  and  Pve  no  doubt  that 
she  used  to  believe  in  the  Poltergeist  as  firmly  as  any 
of  you. 

*'She  was  in  the  same  state,  no  doubt,  when  she 
went  out  with  Peter's  shotgun  that  morning.  The 
quail  disturbed  her,  and  she  thought,  as  far  as  sleep- 
walkers do  think,  she'd  only  to  go  out  and  point  ^ 
gun  to  kill  them.  She  knew  that  shotgun  was  on  the 
back  porch,  didn't  she?" 

I  nodded.     'T  left  it  out  there  for  Lewis,"  I  ex- 


THE  FINAL  EXPLANATION  305 

plained.  ''He  was  to  come  over  early  for  it.  And 
I  remember  Aunt  Mary  sent  for  me,  when  I  was 
going  to  bed,  to  ask  where  it  was,  and  if  it  was 
safe." 

"Quite  so."  Somers  paused,  scowling  ruefully. 
"I've  been  frightfully  stupid  all  through  this  thing!" 
he  declared.  "I  knew  Miss  McGregor  was  hysteri- 
cal; why,  those  'knots  in  her  neck'  alone  would  have 
proved  that.  I  was  convinced  she  was  playing  ghost, 
just  as  one  takes  any  unimportant  thing  for  granted 
without  stopping  to  verify  it.  But  it  never  occurred 
to  me  that,  if  she  could  get  up  to  play  ghost,  she 
could  have  got  up  to  shoot  Gaskell,  too.  The 
idea  never  entered  my  head  until  'Roaring  Lafe' 
Rutledge  told  us  about  the  'ha'nt'  he  saw.  We  owe 
him  that,  anyhow.  And  you  chaps  were  pretty 
peeved  with  me  afterward,  when  I  said  I  thought 
it  was  the  Poltergeist  killed  Gaskell,  weren't  you?" 

He  gave  us  a  fleeting  glance  and  went  on.  "So 
Aunt  Mary  got  up  very  quietly  and  w^ent  out  after 
the  shotgun.  Your  sleepiness,  your  hypothyroidism, 
Anne,  made  it  very  handy  for  her;  she  wasn't  afraid 
of  waking  you,  and  I  suppose  she  was  getting  bolder. 
All  her  ghost  tricks  had  gone  unsuspected — who 
could  suspect  a  paralytic  of  running  about  the  house 
of  nights? — and  she  figured  she  could  even  go  out 
and  let  off  a  shotgun  and  get  away  with  it;  that  is, 
if  she  thought  about  it  at  all,  in  this  somnambulistic 
state  of  hers. 

"Well,  out  she  went,  got  the  gun,  loaded  it,  and 
went  on  into  the  brush,  just  about  the  time  Gaskell 
entered  it,  I  suppose.     It  must  have  been  then  that 


3o6         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

Rutledge  saw  her  and  was  scared  off.  And  then  she 
met  Doctor  Gaskell  face  to  face,  out  there.  I  won- 
der which  of  them  was  more  startled?  The  shock 
wakened  her,  I  suppose,  and  there  she  was,  suddenly 
face  to  face  with  herself.  It's  a  terrible  thing  for 
anybody,  that — to  have  all  one's  little  self-deceptions 
and  hypocrisies  stripped  away  in  an  instant,  to  see 
how  one's  been  fooling  one's  self!  And  it  is  more 
terrible  still  for  an  hysterical,  whose  self-deceptions 
are  deepest  and  most  fully  a  part  of  the  personality. 

''There  she  was,  compelled  for  once  to  admit  to 
herself  that  she  was  an  old  faker,  that  she  wasn't 
paralyzed  after  all— or  how  could  she  be  out  there, 
standing  up?  I  don't  know  what  happened,  of 
course,  or  what  Gaskell  said.  Something  indiscreet, 
it  must  have  been,  or  the  old  lady  would  have 
dropped  down  right  there.  Her  paralysis  would  have 
returned  as  soon  as  she  waked  up,  and  she'd  have 
had  to  be  carried  back  to  bed.  But  he  said  some- 
thing, taunted  her,  I  suppose;  told  her  he  knew  all 
the  time  she  was  faking  and  wasn't  really  paralyzed 
at  all.  And  he  laughed  at  her.  That  was  very  un- 
wise; if  he'd  been  used  to  handling  the  insane  he 
never  would  have  laughed. 

**She  was  holding  a  loaded  shotgun,  and  there  was 
the  only  man  on  earth  who  knew  her  secret,  who 
could  expose  her  double  life.  And  to  have  her  secret 
known  would  destroy  all  the  sympathy,  all  the  ad- 
miration which  she'd  worked  for  so  patiently  these 
fourteen  years  and  more.     And  Gaskell  laughed! 

*'Well,  anger  and  excitement  kept  her  up,  I  sup- 
pose, and  enabled  her  to  forget  her  paralysis  for  the 


THE  FINAL  EXPLANATION  307 

moment.  She  shot  him;  raced  back  to  the  house, 
cleaned  the  gun,  and  put  it  where  she  found  it; 
ran  to  her  room  and  popped  back  into  bed,  with  her 
heart  racing  horribly,  I  suppose.  And  there  her 
paralysis  came  back.  Two  minutes  later  she  couldn't 
have  stood  on  her  feet  any  more  than  a  real,  organic 
paralytic. 

**The  thing  preyed  on  her,  of  course,  tormented  her 
conscience.  You  noticed  the  change;  you  all  spoke 
of  it,  how  she  grew  more  irritable,  more  selfish  and 
exacting,  every  day.  And  Lewis'  arrest  made  it 
worse,  of  course.  She  had  a  hard  time,  poor,  crazy 
old  woman!  But,  after  she  had  killed  one  man  to 
preserve  her  pitiful  secret,  one  could  hardly  expect 
her  to  betray  it,  just  to  save  the  life  of  another.  She 
hoped,  no  doubt,  that  Lewis  would  be  acquitted;  but 
most  of  all  she  hoped  that  she  wouldn't  be  suspected. 
I  knew  she  was  uneasy  about  me;  she  was  afraid  I 
might  guess,  and  you  remember  what  a  scene  she 
made  when  I  tried  to  examine  her.  She  feared  I'd 
discover,  as  Gaskell  had,  that  she  could  walk  after 
all.  The  whole  thing  preyed  on  her  and  made  her 
more  restless  of  nights;  it  brought  on  new  attacks 
of  somnambulism,  and  the  Poltergeist  grew  more 
active.  Her  fears  of  me  worked  on  her  unconscious 
mind  until  last  night  she  tried  to  kill  me  with  a 
knife." 

"Ah-h-h!"  gasped  Anne  Christie.  For  neither  of 
the  girls  knew  of  that  carving  knife  which  had  trans- 
fixed Somers'  empty  bed.     *'Ah,  my  dear!" 

The  physician  took  her  hand.  'T  wasn't  there, 
Anne,"    said   he   gently.      "I   was   up,    watching   the 


3o8         THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

stairs;  I  hoped  the  Poltergeist  might  make  its  ap- 
pearance last  night.  That's  why  I  was  so  rude  at 
supper  and  told  everybody  I  didn't  believe  in  it.  I 
hoped  that,  if  Aunt  Mary  thought  me  a  skeptic,  the 
Poltergeist  might  come  up  to  convince  me.  But  I 
hardly  looked  for  a  carving  knife! 

"It  worked,  though,"  he  went  on.  ''The  ghost 
walked,  but  she  got  away  from  me.  I  didn't  know 
about  the  back  stairs,  and  she  must  have  slipped 
down  that  way,  while  I  ran  up  the  front  ones.  I 
nearly  had  her  at  that;  she  dropped  your  rings, 
Dorothy,  just  as  she  was  sliding  through  the  door. 

''Well,  I  had  proved  to  myself,  then,  that  Aunt 
Mary  was  the  ghost,  but  I  hadn't  caught  her.  And 
I  knew  that,  unless  I  did,  it  was  quite  useless  to  ask 
for  a  confession.  So  I  went  on  with  this  other 
plan.  You  know  how  the  quail  annoyed  her  all 
along;  it  was  that  started  this  whole  dreadful  affair. 
And  lately  they  worried  her  even  more;  she  thought 
they  were  accusing  her,  as  she  said  just  now.  So 
I  borrowed  this  gun  and  left  it  on  the  porch,  right 
where  the  other  had  been,  and  spoke  about  it  at 
supper,  to  make  sure  she  knew.  Then  this  morning 
I  hid  right  outside  her  window  and  imitated  the 
whistle  of  a  quail.  It  was  the  same  situation,  you 
see,  and  I  hoped  it  might  arouse  the  same  reaction. 

"It  did.  You  were  there,  too,  Uncle  George.  I 
whistled  and  whistled;  at  last  we  heard  the  old  lady 
call.  Anne  didn't  answer;  she  was  too  sleepy,  I 
suppose.  But  I  told  her  last  night  to  pretend  to  be 
asleep  anyway,  whatever  happened.  At  last,  satis- 
fied that  she  was  safe.  Aunt  Mary  got  up  and  went 


THE  FINAL  EXPLANATION  309 

after  the  gun,  just  as  I'd  hoped  she  would.  She 
didn't  come  outdoors,  as  I'd  expected;  she  was  too 
upset,  too  irrational  to  realize,  I  suppose,  that  some 
one  would  surely  hear  if  she  fired  from  her  win- 
dow. All  she  knew  was  that  a  quail  was  just 
outside,  and  she  must  silence  it  somehow.  When  she 
shot,  Uncle  George  and  I  ran  in;  you  know  the  rest." 

Dorothy  relaxed  with  a  tired  sigh.  *'Oh,  dear!" 
she  whispered.  "Fm  so  tired,  so  kind  of  stunned  and 
numb!  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I  ought  to  be 
sorry,  but  all  I  can  feel  is  a  sense  of  relief.  Lewis 
free,  no  more  Poltergeist,  and  no  more  Aunt  Mary 
to  complain  all  the  time.  Oh,  dear  me,  it's  horrid, 
it's  unnatural!" 

Poor  child !  She  had  been  through  so  much.  This 
last  tragedy  had  stunned  her;  she  had  no  emotions 
left. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

MATING   TIME 

WE  had  my  nephew  home  with  us  that  very  day. 
Somers  and  I  went  to  the  State  soHcitor, 
Toby  Vanbrugh,  with  our  tale,  and  he  marked  Lewis 
Parker's  indictment,  ''nolle  pros,"  with  a  very  bad 
grace.  It  was  hard  upon  him,  after  all,  to  see  his 
big  case  collapse  like  a  pricked  bubble.  He  had  built 
high  hopes  upon  the  prosecution  of  the  case  of  the 
people  against  C.  Lewis  Parker;  he  had  seen  himself 
well  advertised  by  its  prosecution,  elected,  perhaps, 
State  senator  upon  the  strength  of  it,  with  who 
knows  what  further  political  advancement  beyond, 
governor — United  States  senator!  He  had  a  healthy 
opinion  of  his  abilities,  had  the  Honorable  Toby 
\^anbrugh.  And  now  all  that  was  gone;  in  the  face 
of  Miss  McGregor's  ante-mortem  statement,  vouched 
for  by  five  witnesses,  he  could  do  no  less  than  drop 
the  case,  and  he  knew  it. 

On  the  whole,  the  newspapers  were  as  kind  as  we 
could  have  expected.  One  or  two  of  them  played  the 
case  up,  for  it  was  a  unique  news  story;  but  that  will 
pass  soon  enough,  I  trust,  and  poor,  demented  Aunt 
Mary  will  be  left  to  rest  quietly  beneath  her  modest 
headstone,  where  the  bobwhites,  that  whistle  in  the 
quiet  cemetery  through  long  spring  mornings,  can 
disturb  her  no  more. 

It  was  two  days  after  the  tragic  denouement  of 


MATING  TIME  311 

onr  mystery,  and  Dorothy  and  Lewis,  reunited,  sat 
hand  in  hand  in  the  big  Hving  room  of  Fort  House. 
The  slanting  sun  cast  long  yellow  beams  through  its 
western  windows  and  played  lovingly  on  the  girl's 
black  hair,  so  that  red,  coppery  lights  glinted  in  it. 

To  them  entered  Peter  McGregor  and  I.  ''Well^ 
Dot,"  said  her  brother  cheerfully,  *T  suppose  you'll 
be  leaving  us  now?" 

Dorothy  nodded.  "We'll  be  in  our  own  little 
house  to-morrow.  Rosina's  over  there  now,  scrub- 
bing and  cleaning,  until  your  life  isn't  safe  for  it. 
And  she's  promised  to  have  breakfast  waiting  for  us 
there  in  the  morning." 

"Well,"  he  sighed,  "it'll  be  lonely  here,  but  I  sup- 
pose you're  not  sorry  to  leave  Fort  House." 

The    girl    shivered.      "No;    w'e    w^ere   happy    here 

once,  but  everything  seems  so  changed.     I  miss " 

She  stopped,  biting  her  lips,  and  I  knew  she  thought 
of  poor  old  Aunt  Mary,  in  some  way  lovable  for  all 
her  selfishness,  whom  we  had  laid  to  rest  in  the 
churchvard  that  afternoon. 

Peter  sighed  again.  "Poor  Aunt  Mary!  She  did 
terrible  things;  she  made  us  all  suffer;  but,  after  all, 
she  wasn't  to  blame." 

So  we  all  felt;  she  had  been  irresponsible.  Doc- 
tor Somers'  kindly  judgment,  delivered  over  her 
dead  body  in  that  east  bedroom,  had  had  its  effect. 
We  remembered  the  old  lady  kindly  enough,  as  the 
puppet  of  her  ow^n  mad  impulses,  more  to  be  pitied 
than  blamed. 

"Well,"  said  I  more  briskly,  "you  two  are  fixed. 
You're   safely  married,    even   if   you   didn't  have   a 


312  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

big  wedding,  and  all  ready  to  settle  down  in  your 
own  home.  And  Somers,  I  suppose,  will  be  going 
North  again  presently.  But  what  will  Anne  Christie 
do?" 

Dorothy  gave  me  a  pitying,  superior  glance.  "Oh, 
you  men!"  she  said.     "Listen!"  ^ 

We  listened  obediently,  and  we  heard  faint  voices 
drifting  in  through  the  open  southern  windows, 
which   faced  the   front  porch. 

"I'll  be  going  back  to  the  hospital  now,  I  suppose." 
That  was  Doctor  Somers'  brusque  voice;  it  sounded 
rather  less  than  pleased. 

A  faint-heard  sigh.  "Must  you  go?"  Miss 
Christie's  low  tones  were  wistfully  tremulous.  I 
must  strain  to  hear. 

"Must  I?  Why,  not  for  another  fortnight. 
Why?" 

"Because — because  I " 

'Anne!     Do  you  want  me  to  stay?" 
'Oh,  the  idiot!"  exclaimed  Dorothy.     "Does  she?" 
'Hush,  Dot!"    And  we  all  listened  frankly. 
'I — I    don't   want   you   to   go,"    whispered    Anne 
Christie. 

"Anne,  dear!"  There  was  a  tiny  rustle,  as  if  he 
had  moved  closer.  "I'm  thirty-eight  years  old,  a 
battered,  skinny,  homely  brute " 

"You  are  not !" 

"A  grotesque-looking  creature,  almost  middle- 
aged,  and  just  starting  my  chosen  work.  I've  frit- 
tered away  years  and  years,  just  studying,  working 
on  a  small  salary  when  I  might  have  been  earning 
big  money  for  my  wife." 


MATING  TIME  313 

"For  your  w-wife?" 

"Yes,  when  I  get  one.  And  here  I  am,  with  my 
best  years  gone,  Httle  better  than  a  failure.'* 

''You're  not!     You're   just   wonderful,   the   most 
wonderful  man  I  ever  saw  or  dreamed  of  1" 
Better  than  Doctor  Gaskell,  even?" 
Of    course!      And,"    very    wistfully,    "I    h-hope 
you'll  be  very  happy  with  your  w-wife,  whoever  she 
is!" 

Humph!"     A  characteristic  snort,  expressing  dis- 
gust   of    this    evasion,    this    edging    about    a    topic. 
Anne  Christie,  will  you  marry  me?" 

I'm  only  a  poor  mountain  girl,  and  my  father's 
in  prison  for  making  moonshine  liquor!" 
Stepfather!"   stubbornly  replied   Somers. 
Well,  but  I'm  not — not  g-good  enough." 
Anne!"    A   chair   slammed   back.      "Anne — dear, 
I  love  you.    Are  you  going  to  marry  me,  or  not?" 

For  all  answer  there  came  a  little,  murmurous,  coo- 
ing sound  and  a  rustling,  as  if  a  girl  in  crisp  gingham 
had  settled  more  comfortably  into  the  crook  of  some 
one's  arm. 

A  long  silence  followed,  while  we  within  doors 
smiled  tenderly  at  nothing.  Then:  "Oh,  Floyd, 
honey,  let  me  go.  I'm  s-sure  that  man  saw  us;  he's 
looking  back  and  laughing!" 

I  sighed,  as  a  lonely  old  man  will.  "Two  more 
accounted  for,"  said  I.  "That  leaves  only  you  and 
mc,  Peter." 

"Not  me!"  the  boy  replied  promptly.  "I'm  going 
to  be  married  in  December." 


V 
P 

(C 


314  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

"Why,  Peter  McGregor.  And  you  never  told 
me!"     Dorothy  looked  shocked. 

"We-ell,  Dot,  you  see,  I  didn't  know  It  myself 
until  I  was  in  New  York  that  last  time.  And  I  got 
back  to  find  old  Lewis  in  jail,  and  everybody  so  up- 
set— I  thought  Fd  better  keep  it  to  myself  for  a 
while,  until  things  brightened  up  a  bit.** 

*'Who — who  is  she?"  demanded  Dorothy. 

I  did  not  listen.  I  am  a  very  selfish  old  man. 
All  these  bright  young  folk  whom  I  loved,  all  the 
friends  I  had  on  earth,  I  thought  gloomily,  had 
paired  off,  and  I  was  left  alone.     I  tried  to  smile. 

^^Congratulations,  Peter!  That's  just  fine.  It's  the 
mating  season.  Well,  it's  time  I  settled  down,  too. 
I'll  go  now  and  write  a  letter." 

"Stop,  unk!"  Lewis  caught  my  arm.  "What 
makes  you  look  so  queer?  What  letter  do  you 
mean?" 

"Why,  to  Stamford,  to  the  Home  for  the  Aged 
there.  It's  a  nice  homey  place  and  very  exclusive. 
I — I  have  f-friends  there,  too.  I'm  going  to  buy  a 
membership." 

"You  are  not!"  declared  Dorothy  and  my  nephew 
at  once.  "Why,  your  room's  waiting  for  you  at  our 
new  bungalow ;  we've  moved  your  things  over  there, 
and  everything." 

"You  are  not!"  cried  Peter.  "Why,  unk,  I  was 
counting  on  you  to  bach  in  with  me  here  at  Fort 
House  until  I  bring  Edith  down  at  Christmas  time 
to  take  care  of  us  both !" 

"You  are  not!"     That  was  Floyd  Somers,  in  from 


MATING  TIME  315 

the  porch,  his  extraordinarily  long,  lean  arm  wrapped 
about  Anne's  shoulders.  "You're  coming  to  live  with 
Anne  and  me,  of  course !  I've  decided  to  resign  from 
the  hospital  and  buy  out  Gaskell's  practice.  A  little 
general  medicine  will  do  me  good,  and  there's  plenty 
of  medicolegal  work  in  North  Carolina,  once  I  get 
to  be  known  here.  I  like  this  country.  We're  going 
to  buy  Gaskell's  house,  Anne  and  I;  and  of  course 
you'll  live  with  us  there!" 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears.  After  all,  I  was  not 
friendless  nor  forgotten.  ''God  b-bless  you,  chil- 
dren!" I  said.  'T\\  stay  with  you  all,  turn  and  turn 
about." 

My  story  is  done.  I  am  living  with  Lewis  and 
Dorothy;  but,  when  Anne  and  Floyd  come  back  from 
their  honeymoon  next  month,  I  shall  go  there  for  a 
while,  and  in  January  I  move  to  Fort  House,  to  stay 
w^ith  Peter  and  his  Edith.  I  hope  she  may  prove  to 
be  as  true  and  as  sweet  as  my  other  two  nieces — 
by  marriage  and  courtesy ! 

Ralph  Satterfield  and  his  fellows  of  the  corn- 
whisky  ring  are  safe  in  Atlanta;  and  Somers  need 
not  fear  the  bootleggers'  vengeance  for  another 
twenty  years,  at  least.  As  for  Roaring  Lafe  Rut- 
ledge,  he  never  came  to  trial.  He  died  in  prison  of 
some  heart  condition,  brought  on.  Doctor  Somers 
says,  by  excessive  drinking. 

Aunt  Mary  McGregor  sleeps  in  the  Pinelands 
cemetery,  no  more  than  a  dozen  feet  from  the  man 
she  slew.  We  put  flowers  on  both  graves  impartially, 
as  the  genial  sun  of  North  Carolina  shines  on  both; 


310  THE  TROUBLE  AT  PINELANDS 

and  the  quail  whistle  "hohwhiie!  hohwhiter  without 
disturbing  the  rest  of  either. 

We  do  not  judge  her.  As  Floyd  Somers  said, 
"When  you  have  stood,  with  a  deadly  weapon  in 
hand,  facing  an  enemy  who  has  power  to  betray 
your  secrets  and  destroy  the  security  of  your  whole 
life;  and  when  you  have  let  him  go  unscathed,  know- 
ing you  could  kill  him  with  impunity,  then,  and  not 
till  then,  dare  you  blame  Mary  McGregor." 

Let  that  be  her  epitaph.  But  I,  for  one,  shall  never 
to  my  dying  day  hear  the  quail  calling  ^'hohzvhite! 
hohwhite!''  of  a  lazy  summer  morning  without  aa 
inward  shrinking. 

THE  END 


r 


